A Different Perspective
by PCBW
Summary: Everything changes for Beverly and Jean Luc after she endures an near-death experience. Will they leave Starfleet? Start a family? How will their lives change? Read to find out. Rest assured, if you're a PC fan, you won't be disappointed. Read and Review if the Spirit moves. I love hearing from you :) Thanks a million!
1. Chapter 1

Thinking back, everything was routine. Jean Luc had asked me to go with the away team down to the planet. It wasn't at all abnormal that I was asked to go on an away mission and so I thought nothing of it. I remember the prelude clearly:

_"Picard to Crusher."_

_"Yes, Captain."_

_"I'd like you to accompany the away team down to the planet's surface. Be in Transporter Room 1 in 20 minutes."_

_"Yes, Captain. Crusher out."_

_I turned to Alyssa; "I'll leave Sickbay in your capable hands."_

_"Of course, Doctor," she responded with her usual smile as she turned back to her work_.

I clearly remember crossing Sickbay, making a few additions to the med kit, and shedding my lab coat before making my way to the transporter room. I met them and within minutes we materialized on the planet's surface.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

We had been told that the Keflotz 7 had for a while been under military dispute. Starfleet had sent us to the planet to mediate the peace treaty between the two previously warring sects that controlled the planet. Intelligence at Headquarters had given us little information, though, on what to expect when we arrived.  
We had been to planets and colonies before that had been ravaged by wars and armed conflicts. However, to me, Keflotz 7 was a unique experience.

The moment that we materialized, my senses were assaulted. The first thing I remember was the air. Even before my eyes registered the sights before me I can remember the smell that hung around me. It was harsh. I have smelled burning human flesh, but this was a new experience altogether. The atmosphere hung with fine bits of debris that seemed to carry with them the scent of sweat, body odour, blood, and stale, rotting carcasses and those that were burning. The air was clouded with ash, which made seeing anything not in our direct vicinity very difficult.

I moved in closer to Will and Jean Luc as I heard phaser fire in our vicinity. I shouldn't have been scared. We've been in worse situations. But, this time, I felt a twinge of fear as well as revulsion. I looked around, confused because we were told that the fighting had ended. I don't know why he did it, but Jean Luc grabbed my hand.

If I had been in my right mind to scrutinize the situation, I would have thought it extremely odd of him to be doing so; he never had shown such forward and public displays of affection and protectiveness towards me. However, in that moment I was grateful for the comfort. Only Jean Luc and Will had worn phasers – Worf had insisted upon it.

Not moments later a figure began running towards us, "Quick! Come with me!" He was clad in what looked like sackcloth material and over his mouth he held a rag to keep the floating debris out of his lungs. Reacting to the situation, we followed him. He led us into a nearby building which we assumed was the council hall that we were due to arrive at to negotiate the treaty. We could still hear phaser fire outside.

"What is going on?!" Jean Luc demanded incredulously.

"Captain, it's good to see you," the young man removed the material from his face revealing a deep scar on his left cheek. "The factions were willing to negotiate and peace when the fighting broke out again. This is just the beginning and it resumed only an hour ago."

"I thought that a truce had been mediated between the warring sides!?"

"Yes sir; it had been. However, not all the soldiers were happy about the upcoming negotiations. People on both sides began taking to the streets and now there is an open conflict again." The young man looked around, "Captain, you shouldn't be here – it's not safe."

I hadn't really been listening to their conversation. I think that my brain was still processing the initial shock of the situation. I looked around at the building. I hadn't noticed when we'd walked in, but lined up around the walls were the wounded and dead. My instincts kicked in and I let go of Jean Luc's hand as I hurried over to tend to the fallen. I remember seeing a young woman whose face was covered in blood. I couldn't tell if it was hers or someone else's. She appeared to be in pain, though, as she clutched at her right arm. I took out my tricorder and began to scan her, looking for the cause of her injury. Then, all of a sudden I remember feeling a sudden wave of panic. The room shuddered and then I woke up in sickbay.

And now, here I am.


	2. Chapter 2

"Doctor," Alyssa's cheery voice began, "you're awake!"

My eyes flutter open. Too bright – it's much too bright in here.

"Alyssa," my voice is harsh, scratchy. "How long?"

"You've been asleep for 4 days, Doctor," her voice turns somber.

4 days! How could I have been asleep for 4 days? I vauguely know what happened. I think I dreamt about it. I still remember that smell. I still remember those bodies. The memory is too raw – too fresh.

"Alyssa," I clear my throat, "what's happened?"

Alyssa gingerly takes my hand and folds it in her own; I know this tactic – I use it all the time. In fact, I think it taught it to her. I know what it means: bad news.

"Do you remember anything that happened?"

"Yes, the planet. I remember treating a young woman and then I woke up here. Tell me, Alyssa, what is it?"

"We were trying to beam you out when the building that you were in came under heavy fire and you must have been standing close to where a rocket hit the building. You were beamed here just in time".

"But?" Now the bad news…

"But part of the wall collapsed on you. We were able to beam you out, but you sustained heavy injuries. You lost a lot of blood. Dr. Selar was able to stabilize you, but for a while we didn't think you were going to make it."  
I'm focused now, "what's the prognosis?"

There is a lag. This can't be good, "you sustained crush injuries to your right femur. The bone was completely shattered - the same with your left scapula and right humerus. Because of the position that the wall landed on you, a two lumbar vertebrae were similarly damaged-"

"Spinal cord?" Now I am panicking. I try to move my legs, but they wont respond to my internal command.

"You suffered spinal shock."

"If it's shock, I should have recovered by now. Was any of the cord transected at the injury site?"

"No. But Doctor, we've heard of cases of spinal shock taking up to weeks to recover."

I'm panicking and Alyssa can tell, "Beverly," She never uses my first name, but somehow it's soothing, "please calm down. Your reflexes and use of your limbs will recover." Intuitively I know that she's right. I know all the healing pathways, but somehow it brings me no comfort. I turn my mind to something else, "what about the Captain and the Commander?"

"They suffered only minor injuries." I close my eyes. That's good. She continued softy, "He's been here every day. We can't seem to get him to leave."  
I smile, "the Captain?"  
Just at that moment, I hear the familiar hiss of Sickbay's main doors. Alyssa looks up, "Captain!"

I turn my head and smile. He looks tired. He looks older when he's tired. Dark circles have formed under his eyes. He always seems to have faint dark circles, but today they're so stark that they seem to be painted on.

Alyssa touches my arm, breaking my reverie, "I'll be in to look on your later. When Dr. Selar comes on duty, she'll want to look at your wounds."

I nod my head and turn to my guest, "Jean Luc," I smile. I sense a small hesitation before he starts to amble over to my side,

"Beverly" he whispers. I love the way he says my name – and it's not just the accent. There is a sort of reverence to his tone. But, I've noticed that over the years that the tone has become tainted with a hint of sadness. In the past two years, he's used less and less of my name. He now refers to me as Doctor – sometimes even when we're alone. It's how he distances himself from me. It's how we keep each other out. Jean Luc calls me one of his best friends. If I told you the truth, I'd say he is one of mine as well. Yes, our friendships is different than the one that I have with Deanna, but still it's meaningful and it brings me great comfort.

We've been friends since we were at the academy. I remember how he was back then – he was so young and full of life. He's still full of life but he's different now. I suppose that's to be expected when you have such an onus of responsibility. He started to distance himself from me after I married Jack. Well, even before then. I first sensed his beginning hesitation when Jack and I announced our engagement. I started to wonder back then if he was in love with me. There were always subtle hints. Everything with Jean Luc is subtle, though, so it was hard to tell. I remember the way that he used to look at me when it was just the two of us. His eyes lit up and a small crooked smile would always tug at his cheeks. He never flirted outright, but there was a certain comfort to our companionship. Conversation was easy but even silence was laidback. Now I know why – I found out a few months ago when we had escaped the prison facility on Kesprytt. I heard his thoughts in my head. He was in love with me all those years ago. He told me though – assured me even – that those feelings had gone away. I had a lingering suspicion that they hadn't but I said nothing. I had carefully shrouded my thoughts that night so that he would never know how I felt about him in return – how I too was in love with him all those years ago and how I'm still in love with him. The next evening, he broached the topic again and I rebuffed him. Why did I do that? I'm still scared. I'm still hesitant. Jean Luc is an important man. Starfleet has hailed him as one of their best captains. He commands the Federation's flagship vessel. He's made thousands of first contacts. He is devoted to who he is and, sometimes I think, the image of who he is. But that's not the whole reason that I turned him down. I've been a Starfleet wife before. I've had a husband who was married to his work and I was the mistress in that relationship. Don't get me wrong Jack was a wonderful husband- when he was home. He was attentive and caring, but I knew that I was second best. He never would have admitted it, but I knew it was true. Jean Luc has become the same way – and I don't ever see that changing.  
He continues tentatively over to my bedside and takes my hand, "how are you feeling?" he asks softly.

"I'm sorry." I don't know why that came out. Why am I saying sorry?

"Why?"

I smile, "I don't know. I felt the need to say it. I'm sorry for scaring you."

"You were doing your job."

"I know."

"And I always worry about you."

"I know." I know this conversation is leading us to the realm of feelings and I don't want to go there now, "What happened on the planet? Were you able to negotiate the peace treaty?"

"Yes. The fighting subsided. We're still in the middle of negotiation. But, at least the firing has stopped."

"Good." That's all I can say right now.  
"Well," he fumbles, "I'm glad to see that you're alright. I.. um.. I have to get back to the bridge. I'll come and see you later." There's something that Jean Luc isn't telling me. I can feel it as he gives me a half grin and walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

I hate looking at the ceiling in Sickbay. I hate lying here. I feel completely useless and uneasy. Being a patient in the same place that you work feels like a violation of something sacred.

It's frustrating to see my colleagues go about their work – perfectly healthy- while I lay here essentially paralyzed. I don't know how long it's been since Jean Luc left. His visit made me feel uncomfortable and I can't figure out why. I could tell right away that there was something he wasn't telling me just before he left. I've known him too long not to know when something is wrong. Luckily Selar comes over before I can start he tedious process of trying to pinpoint Jean Luc's subtle disquiet.

"Dr. Crusher," she begins. I crane my neck to look at her. I think she picks up on the subtle cue and comes round to the back of the bed to where the control panel is, "I am just going to raise the head of your bed and then we will talk."

The bed raises and brings me into a semi-sitting position. I'm eager to hear what she has to say and her silence is beginning to worry me.

"What is it, Selar?"

Vulcans are not known for their warmth – Selar especially. She is a good Doctor – in fact she's absolutely brilliant. What I like about working with her is that she is horribly direct and won't sugar coat any diagnosis, like Dr. Hill and I are tempted to do.

"I assume that Nurse Ogawa has briefed you on your injuries."

"Yes. She told me that there was massive hemorrhaging, broken femur, humerus, and scapula as well as crush injuries to L4 and L5 and spinal shock."

"Yes."

"Selar. What is it?"

"As you know, you have sustained heavy injury. I assume that you know that you are going to be off your feet for a while."

"Yes. But since the spine was not transected I can expect a full recovery of motor function."

"Yes, but it is going to take a while."

I'm getting frustrated, "I know, Selar. Is that everything?"

"We had to catheterize you. We'll take the fluid lines out in a couple of days. In the meantime, however, you will have to remain in Sickbay."

I know it's not rational, but I just hate being a patient here and I just have to know, "When can I be released to my quarters?"

"I can't answer that precisely. Currently, you have no feeling in your groin and legs. If I were to discharge you now, as you know, you would need constant supervision which none of the staff are able to provide. We've had to send most of them down the planet to help with the relief effort. I'm sorry, Doctor, but you'll have to remain here until we can take the catheter out and you've regained at least some of your mobility."

I cringe inwardly. Having to have surgery in the same place that you yourself operate is bad enough. But having to be catheterized by your colleagues is worse. Don't get me wrong: I'm no prude. However, I've had to catheterize many patients and it's a very personally violating procedure even if the patient is not awake to experience it.

"Very well, Selar, thank you."

"Before I leave you I am going to check over your wounds. May I?" It's professional courtesy to ask before you touch the patient – even if you're going to do whatever it is you're going to do regardless.

I nod, "of course." I'm interested to see myself.

As Selar pulls down the blanket that's covering my lower body, I see firsthand the size of the scar – it's quite impressive. The dermal regenerator is excellent at erasing minor scrapes and burns. However with deeper cuts, like those made during surgery, the patient is still left with a residual scar until the wound heals completely.

Selar looks a pleased as a Vulcan can with what she sees. So do I; she's done a good job. The lines that she cut are smooth and straight – impressive for an emergency situation. With Selar, though, I would have expected no less. She replaces the sheet and moves to my upper body. She notes no irregularities or infection.

She addresses my question before I ask it, "you'll be able to move your arms within the next couple of days. Because the bones were crushed so completely, the osteo-regenerator could only do so much. The rest of the healing you will have to do yourself. I want to get you eating today. Before you woke we took out the feeding tube. You are already, quite thin, Doctor. Your injuries are going to require a lot of energy to heal. I am prescribing a diet high in protein. Do you have any requests?"

I sigh, I'm not hungry but I know where Selar is coming from, "anything is fine, Selar. Thank you."

"As you wish. I'm going to get back to my work. Please rest. I can't stress how important it is, as you know."

"Yes. Thank you." She replaces the bed to how it was before she leaves, leaving me to stare at the ceiling again. This was going to be a long recovery…

/

I don't know how long I've been asleep, but when I wake up I see Deanna patiently sitting by my bed. She smiles, it's good to see her.

"Good morning, Beverly!"

"It's hardly morning, is it?"

"No. It's 1800 hours. How are you feeling?"

"You tell me." I smile. Sometimes with Deanna's telepathic abilities, she's better able to figure out my emotions that I am. I think that's why she makes an excellent ship's counselor. She is able to see through the carefully constructed emotional barriers that we set up for ourselves. But the wonderful thing about Deanna is that she'll never tell outright what you're feeling or that you're not telling her the whole truth – instead she'll gently allow you to come to her on your own.

She genuinely returns my smile and leans into me, "I don't need to read your mind to know that you're frustrated."

"You're right." I concede.

"What else?"

I look around to see if anyone could be listening. There's no one. Sickbay is desolate and I am in a private room near my office. I turn back to Deanna, "It's Jean Luc."

Deanna's face drops a little, "he was worried about you."

"That's what Alyssa said. He came in to see me earlier and he seemed almost uneasy."

"I think he's still a little shaken, that's all."

"Why?"

She looks a little perplexed, "no one told you?"

"No. Deanna, what's going on?"

"He was frantic on the planet when he couldn't find you buried under the debris. Will said he'd never seen him like that."

"It's not like Jean Luc to be frantic," I add.

"He was the one who dug you out – with Will and Jorin's help."

"Jorin?"

"The man who met you on the planet."

"What about the injured?"

"They didn't survive, Beverly. You did, though, because the body of a young girl shielded you."

My face drops and my heart starts to pound. Sweat begins to pool in the creases of my palms. Sadness and panic overtake me. I remember that young girl. She couldn't have been more than 20 years old. She looked so scared.

"What happened to her?" I ask – but I know the answer.

"She died."

The guilt suddenly overcomes me. I can't breath.

"Beverly, Beverly," Deanna says my name as a mantra as she moves to sit next to me on the bed. I can't look her. I feel so ashamed. "Beverly!" I look up at Deanna. I can feel hot tears streaming down my face, but my arms are so weak and I'm afraid to move them to wipe away the tears. In truth, I don't want to wipe them away.

"It's not your fault." I can only nod my head. If it's not my fault why do I feel so guilty? "There's nothing you could have done." Her consolation is trite. It's what you're supposed to say to people at times like this. None of it's helping. I think realizes that, and so she just lets me cry.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't know when Deanna left. I don't know when I fell asleep, but now I wake up for the third time today and it all hits me. I turn my torso in revulsion remembering what she told me, remembering the face of that poor, scared little girl.

Sickbay's lights are dimmed for the evening. I can hear some of the night staff chatting outside my room. They're talking about what they saw on the planet. I don't want to listen – I have enough memories of it.

Not moments later, I hear the doors hiss open, "Good evening, Captain," I hear Ensign Jacobs say. It's not that I don't want to see him. I just don't want to see anyone. I feel guilty and frustrated, crippled and bitter.

"Go away, Jean Luc." I say as he enters my room. It's rude of me, I know. He's just trying to be a good friend, but right now I just want to be left alone to wallow in the remorse that I feel for taking that young woman's life.

"Beverly," he keeps his voice low as he ignores my request. My back is turned – I don't want to look at him. He continues, "Deanna, told you."

Tears come again, "yes".

He doesn't bother to comfort me like Deanna did. He doesn't trouble with meaningless platitudes or trite expressions of sympathy. He just sits here next to my bed as I cry. I'm grateful for that at least. After some time, "I know you're going to say no but I've been asked by Selar to pressure you into eating."

I turn to him, my face covered in tears, my eyes red and my face blotchy. "I'm not hungry."

He smiles, "I know. But, you have to. Doctor's orders."

"I can't move my arms too well."

"I'll help you," he replies tenderly.

"I don't want your help, Jean Luc. I don't want anyone's help."

He's not offended, "stop it, Beverly. I know it's glib to say, but it's not your fault what happened to that girl. Stop blaming yourself and grow up."

"How dare you!" Now I'm angry. How dare he come in any chastise me when I'm hurting?

"Get out, Jean Luc!"

"I'm not leaving, Beverly. You can intimidate everyone else, but you're not going to make me leave. You're not going to start shutting everyone out!" I feel his gaze on me. Our eyes are fixed a death lock. He drops his shoulders, "it's been a long day, Beverly. We all want you to get better, but you have to eat something or they're going to put the feeding tube in and I know you don't want that."

My shoulders drop in defeat and I give up, "fine". The truth is that I've had enough loss of control. Having Selar put in a feeding tube would be humiliating and I've already been catheterized.

Jean Luc leaves briefly and comes back in with a covered plate, "I've replicated one of our favourites, quiche Lorainne."

"Sounds fine." At this point I don't care, I'm only eating to appease the powers that be.

Like a practiced pro, he reaches behind my bed and puts the bed into a semi vertical position. Then he reaches and drags the bed table in front of me. Even though I'm not hungry, the quiche looks wonderful. I let out a crooked smile; it really is thoughtful of him to do this for me.

Our silence is a comfortable – like it always is. Up until recently, Jean Luc and I would sometimes have working dinners together. We'd set out a plate of bread, cold meat, and cheese and sit in his quarters or mine and go over reports. I'd record notes on my patients while he'd go over bridge reports. I think I liked doing that more than I liked having a formal dinner with him. During a working dinner I could wear my uniform or even more casual clothing like sweatpants and a T-shirt. Truthfully, I could have worn that to one of our more formal dinners - I don't think Jean Luc would have minded. But, he always made such an effort with those formal suppers that I felt that I needed to make an effort as well.

Tonight, though, it's comfortable – despite our small tiff. I watch him as he's feeding me. I've always noticed Jean Luc. I noticed him when we were at the academy. He has always been extremely attractive. He's always been bald, but the baldness suits him and adds to his character. His body is well taken care of. I can personally attest to that as his physician. His face has changed though. As he's grown older, he's gained more worry lines. Somehow his cheeks and nose have become sharper. But still, Jean Luc is a fine specimen of male anatomy. He catches me examining him and smiles, "what?"

I smile back and I can feel a blush creeping up onto my cheeks. The atmosphere in the room relaxes, "nothing." I think Jean Luc knows that I was just checking him out.

"Last bite," he says as I open my mouth to receive the last bit of the delicious quiche. I chew and swallow, "thank you, Jean Luc." And I am grateful.

"Well," he gets up, "I, eh, I should let you get some rest."

I grin at the situation. I think that sleeping has been really all that I've done today. It's all I've done for the past 4 days. Despite my earlier disposition, "Please, stay. All I've been doing is sleeping."

He gives me that crooked smile, "Gladly. Do you want to talk?"


	5. Chapter 5

"What was it like, Jean Luc?"

"You were there, Beverly. You know. It was horrible."

That isn't what I want to know, "what happened after the explosion?"

He looks down, ashamed, "I panicked, Beverly." He draws in a deep breath and continues, "that explosion went off and it was like I could see it in slow motion. Will was talking to Jorin. I was half listening – I kept glancing back at you. I remember you tending to a young woman." He stops; a pained expression comes over his face like he is seeing it all over again.

"Go on, Jean Luc."

"Well, the next thing I knew the wall in front of you exploded. Thankfully you weren't directly in front of the blast, just very close to it. The force knocked down Will, Jorin, and me down. It was so sudden. It was very loud and I remember a ringing in my ears when I finally got back onto my feet. I was disoriented and a little dizzy. I couldn't see in front of me. As you remember, the air was already quite thick. But after the explosion I couldn't see anything. I looked for you, but I didn't see you."

He grabs my hand reflexively as he continues, "I, I just kept saying your name. I ran over to the wall that had collapsed. There were dead bodies everywhere and I just kept praying that your body wasn't one of them. I looked and looked and that's when I started lifting rubble. It was quite thick and I couldn't see very well. Will told me that I just kept yelling your name. Finally, I spotted your hair," he looks up at me; "I'd know your hair anywhere". I smile, squeeze his hand, and urge him to continue, "When we found you, your body was partially shielded by that of a young girl. It was at that point that the transporters activated and I found myself back on the Enterprise."

We sit in silence, each of us deep in thought. His hand never leaves mine. I look down at our joined hands. It isn't a particularly romantic moment – it shouldn't be. But even in the midst of my sadness, I can't help but notice how well they fit together. I've always hated my fingers. Spider hands, that's what Jack used to call them. But, as I sit there and look at his fingers entwined with my own, I can't help thinking how beautiful they are.

I let out a sigh, "I feel so guilty. She was so _young._"

He looks right at me, "I know." And he does know. He knows because he went through the same emotions that I am experiencing right now; he felt guilty when Jack died and it was supposed to be him. "But Beverly, she was going to die anyway."

I am suddenly thrown, "what?"

He holds up his other hand, calming the maelstrom, "There is nothing that you could have done to prevent that wall from being hit by a bomb. Nothing you did caused that girl to be sitting there at that moment. This… this just happened and there was nothing that you could have done to stop it."

I hadn't looked at it like that, but I can see how he's right. But still, "then why does that bring me no comfort?"

He smirks sympathetically, "because you care and you wanted to help her. Because it's who you are."

He looks at the chronometer on the wall, "I should go." He stands and lets go of my hand, "shall I come back for breakfast?"

"Yes."

"Well, goodnight then." He reaches behind me again and puts the bed down to a comfortable position, takes the plate, replaces the table, and gives me a final nod before he leaves.

I'm still not tired. But then again I haven't been on the planet to help negotiate the treaty, nor have I been in the senior staff room pounding out strategy, nor have I been on the bridge. So, I lay back and settle into my thoughts – which tonight bring me, no surprise, to Jean Luc.


	6. Chapter 6

I think back to that night a couple of months ago. What did I say? Oh, that's right: "maybe we should be afraid". And I was right, wasn't I? There are plenty of things to be afraid of and what just happened to be proves my point. This type of thing happens all too often to us; Jean Luc is captured and held hostage by hostile aliens, or he's assimilated by the Borg, or I almost die under and mound of rubble. You would think that at this stage in history, things would finally be settled. You would think that with all of our technology and all of our advances in science and politics that things would finally be right in the universe; everyone would be at peace, and it would all by daisies and buttercups. But it's not – if anything things are more precarious than they've ever been.

I told myself before that I didn't want to get involved with Jean Luc because I didn't want to be a Starfleet wife again. And that's true. It's true that I don't want to have to compete with work for my husband's affections. I don't want it to be like it was with Jack where he'd try to squeeze in time with Wesley and me between assignments. It was horrible! For 6 years I dealt with it because it was all that I knew. Also, I didn't mind at that stage of my career; I was just getting started with my residency and I was busy all the time as well. But now, I'm in my 40s. My son is grown up and living a life of his own. At this point I want a little consistency. I love being on the Enterprise, I love travelling through space, and I love my job. But there is this part of me that wants something more.

I usually don't let myself dwell on it because there's really no point. But what the hell, I'm laying in a hospital bed and thinking is really my only diversion. Sometimes I imagine just settling down. I have this crazy dream where Jean Luc and I get married and buy a house together somewhere in the country. The house is perfect. It's old – it has a history. Its walls tell stories and hold memories. Fields and a lovely garden surround it, and on my days off in the summer and the spring I like to tend to the grass and flowers. When winter is shrugged off and makes room for spring, the flowers in the garden blossom and let off the most wonderful odour. Jean Luc gets angry because I like to open all the windows in the house at that time and it's still quite chilly outside.

"Put a sweater on," I tell him laughingly as a poke his chest. I can see him smiling back at me as he pulls me against his body, "why put on a sweater, when I have you?" he'll whisper seductively. Then he whisks me up the stairs to our bedroom. It's a beautiful room. I have every detail of it memorized. But, the best part is our bed. It's Jean Luc's parents' bed. The solid oak frame is hundred of years old. We'll stumble into the room, laughing and kissing and shedding our clothes and then he'll shove me down on the bed. He'll cover my body with his own and whisper something in my ear, making me laugh. And then just as I catch my breath, he'll kiss me and take it away again. I know what Jean Luc's body looks like in a physician's sense and I'd be lying if I denied perversely I using that knowledge to fuel my fantasies, but sometimes I can't help it. Sometimes I want it – all of it – so badly that I ache.

I don't allow myself to dream that because I know it won't happen. Jean Luc has expressed to me in the past that he feels guilty that he'll never personally carry on the Picard family name. He tells me that he's happy that Robert has Renee. But, I think that secretly he wants his own family. The problem with Jean Luc is that I don't think he'll ever be willing to sacrifice his blossoming career for it.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm woken by a rustling near my bed. I open my eyes, squinting at the brightness of the light.

"Good morning, Doctor," Selar's even tone begins.

"Good morning, Selar." I reply groggily.

"I'm here checking your vitals. Everything looks good so far. I'm pleased with the progress that you're making."

I chortle, "it doesn't feel like progress. I'm still bed bound."

She looks at me. "We'll try and fix that soon. Right now I need you to try and move your arms. The muscles will be stiff, but I've just scanned you and the bone has healed to 89% and I would like for you to regain your mobility as quickly as possible."

I'm excited at the prospect of regaining my movement. "How do you want to start?"

"Just see if you can lift your arms for me."

The movement is sore as I abduct the arm. But, the undertaking is also doable. Selar supports my arms lightly as I move them. "Good," she states plainly. "I'd like you to continue moving the arms. Again, I know that it's painful, but the pain will subside. I'll give you an NSAID to counteract the dull feeling."

"What about my legs?"

She raises her eyebrows. "I am getting there."

She reaches behind to the wall cupboard and pulls out a simple device. It's a long plastic stick with a rubber weight attached to the end. The plastic end is shaped into a point, albeit a dull one. It's called a reflex hammer. She uncovers my feet from the blanket. I look on, eager to see the results as she drags the pointed end in an upward fashion from my heel to the base of my big toe. She's looking for the Babinski sign – an indication of reflexes. What she wants to see is my foot dorsiflex and my toes to fan. I silently say a prayer to whatever power holds the Universe in check and I watch her perform the test. Sadly, my foot plantarflexes and my toes curl inwards. The reflex hasn't returned

"I am sorry," even a Vulcan can read the disappointment which is currently written all over my face. "But it is only your second day. The literature, as you know, indicates that it can take up to two weeks to regain full reflexes and movement."

I know she's right, but I so desperately want to get out of here! Selar senses my disappointment as she continues: "Doctor, make it your goal to regain full function of your arms by the end of today. Rudimentary senses like the urge to urinate will come back soon and once it does we will remove the catheter and we'll discuss sending you to your quarters. Right now, though, I want to keep you here for observation." I nod. Again, she's right. She's doing and saying everything that I would. But still, this knowledge brings me no comfort.

"I'll check back with you later."

I'm glad to have the function in my arms back. Now at least I can feed myself. Not a moment later, I see Jean Luc appear at my door.

"Good morning," he smiles. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, yes," I blush a little remembering what I was thinking about when I fell asleep.

"And yourself?"

"Oh the usual."

I laugh, "so what 3 hours this time?"

"No – 4 actually." I love that boyish grin he gives me. I love when our banter is easy and playful. I've missed that.

"What have you brought for breakfast?"

"Want to guess?"

"Oh I don't know – it wouldn't be coffee and croissants would it?"

"Beverly, you know me too well."

"Or I've just had one too many breakfasts with you," but that's not the truth. The truth is that I never have enough breakfasts with him. I could eat breakfast with him for the rest of my life. Stop it, Beverly.

I reach up and pull my hair away. His face lights up as he sees the movement in my arms, "yes," I say, "Selar encouraged me to get my arms moving! It's just one more step to getting me out of here!"

"Now, Beverly…" he's still smiling as he sits down and lays breakfast out on the bedside table.

"Oh don't 'now Beverly me', Mister Never-Comes-Into-Sickbay-For-His-Physicals."

"Alright, you've got me!"  
Breakfast looks delicious. I'm actually quite hungry this morning so I leave no room for feminine propriety as I dive right in, liberally buttering my croissant. I don't know why, but Jean Luc loves to watch me eat. He stares for a second before cutting his own open, "did you bring the coffee?" I ask with my mouth half full.

"Oh!" his eyes almost bug out of his head as he jumps up off the chair, runs out of the room, and comes back with the thermos and two mugs. I smile, "you can't forget the coffee."

He laughs, "Now you sound like someone we know."

"Kathryn?" Neither of us has ever met anyone who loves coffee as much as Kathryn Janeway. I knew Kathryn back at the Academy. We weren't in the same course, but I knew her through a mutual friend. She was addicted to coffee back then. I'd always find her sitting in the corner of the Night Owl, the Academy's coffee shoppe, cramming the night before an exam with a tall mug of black coffee cradled in her palm. I always felt drawn to Kathryn. She was endearing and fun (and we both have red hair).

Everyone thought that Voyager had been destroyed on their mission into the Badlands to capture the Maquis rebels. A few months ago, though, our own Reg  
Barclay made a fantastic discovery: that Voyager hadn't been destroyed after all. I remember how fixated Reg was on that ship and that crew. He'd spend all his extra time trying to disprove the notion that Voyager had been destroyed. His persistence won out in the end and Starfleet was able to establish a data stream with Voyager. Sadly, though, a homecoming for that crew is still years and years away.

Jean Luc nods his head and smiles, fondly thinking about Kathryn. "Have you heard anything about Voyager?" I ask.

"Yes, in fact. I'd been meaning to tell you. But then, all this – well you know."

"Well?" I'm giddy to hear what he knows as I reach for another croissant.

"Well..." When Jean Luc is going to tell me some small piece of gossip he adopts the cutest post that's almost Deanna-esq. He hunches his shoulders and angles his body and the most ridiculous smile spreads across his face. He's such a little boy sometimes. "I heard that Kathryn Janeway married her first officer."

A bit of my croissant goes down the wrong pipe. I start choking and Jean Luc comes around to pat my back. I hold up my hand to tell him I'm ok as I take a swig of my coffee.

"What?!" I croak.

He sits back down across from me, "Yes and it gets better."

"Oh, Jean Luc, come on! Spill!"

"They're expecting."

"A baby!"

He nods his head as he swallows a morsel of breakfast. "Mmmhmmm".

"Oh, Jean Luc! How wonderful!" I'm happy for Kathryn. She deserves to be happy. Over the years she's had a hard time. Her father died along with her young fiancé and now she's stranded 70,000 light years from her home and family.

"Who's her first officer?"

"You're not going to believe this, Beverly: he's the Maquis leader she was sent to capture."

"You're joking. No." I am so flustered. "You've got to be kidding me. What's his name again?"

"Chakotay."

"That name sounds familiar."

He nodded his head, "that's because he went to the academy. One year behind me, in fact. I knew him briefly. He even taught at the Academy as an instructor when he graduated."

I take another bite of my croissant, this one loaded with both butter and jam – I'm really indulging this morning. "I can't believe it! What does he look like?"

He laughs at me. "So nosy, Beverly!"

I swat him playfully on the arm. "Deanna would understand. It's a girl thing."

"Not quite." He looks sheepish.

"Alright, spill." I have known Jean Luc for a long time and this was a first.

"Well..." he begins as he scans our surroundings making sure that his crew isn't going to hear him engage in idle gossip with his CMO. Coast clear. "Well from what I remember from the academy, he was a handsome young man. We didn't exactly know one another, but I of him – we were acquaintances. I knew that he was on the boxing team and he was quite close to Boothby – as Boothby also coached him."

"I didn't know that Boothby coached boxing."

"Oh yes – he's a man of many talents. Anyhow, I would see him in the gardens speaking with Boothby. He and I said hello from time to time. He was tall – only a bit taller than me. Dark skin. He's Native American, I think –"

"Well with a name like Chakotay…"

"Yes, so he was tall, athletic build, dark eyes, dark hair."

"Tall, dark, and handsome?" I jest.

"You could say that," he smiles as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Well, Beverly, as much as I would love to stay – I have to get to the bridge. Shall I come by for dinner?"

"Mmm," I sound into my coffee cup.

I still cant believe it – not only is Kathryn married to her first officer no less, but the Jean Luc Picard just engaged in idle 'girl' talk with me. Today is certainly a day of firsts – and the day's not over yet!


	8. Chapter 8

The morning is passing by slowly. To tell you the truth, I am getting bored and I'm frustrated. Sadly, it's not like I can do anything about the boredom. I still can't believe that Kathryn is married. I'm so, so happy for her, but I would be lying if I said that I'm not a little bit jealous. In some ways, I wish that it was me: married with a baby on the way. I never thought about having another child. I am truly satisfied with the son that I raised. To be asking for more would almost be selfish. But sometimes, when I let myself drift off into my forbidden fantasy world, I can't help but imagine what it would be like to have a child – or children- with Jean Luc.

He's always been hesitant around children. We have a school on the Enterprise and I remember a while back they held "Captain Picard Day". I remember taking a break from work to run down to the classroom to watch his talk with the children. He was so nervous at first! I don't think I've ever seen Jean Luc that nervous – and that's saying something considering all the situations we've encountered during the past seven years. But there he was, all fidgety in front of a group of 20 1st – 12th graders. But you know what? He might have started out a little shaky, but by the time he was done, he looked like he was actually enjoying himself. And then there was the time that he was stuck in the lift with three children. He never told me what happened that day. I never even thought to ask. But he still has the honourary plaque that they gave him on display in his quarters.

Truth be told, I think that Jean Luc would be a wonderful father. I just wish that circumstances were different and we could be free to explore that option. I can just see them now. In my mind, we have twins, one boy and one girl. Wesley didn't inherit my red hair. In fact, he's almost the spitting image of Jack. But perhaps our children would have red curly hair. They'd certainly be smart and inquisitive with Jean Luc as their father. He'd teach them all about space. He'd teach them about making wine. He'd explain what goes into making a good vintage and when they were old enough, he'd teach them how to properly taste the wine and choose a good bottle. He'd teach them how to ride and take care of horses. At night, he'd tuck them in and read Shakespeare to them until their eyelids became heavy and they drifted off to sleep. I'd stand in the doorway, watching him as he kissed their foreheads and quietly turn out the lights. He'd walk out into the corridor and find me there. I'd move into his arms and he'd kiss me, "I love you," he'd whisper. I'd kiss him in response and lead him to bed. It is all such a lovely, glorious notion. Stop it, Beverly.

"Good afternoon!" I hear Deanna's dulcet tone ring through my room.

I look up at her and smile, "is it afternoon already?"

"1300 hours!" Where has the time gone? "Sorry I didn't come sooner, I had appointments all morning."

"With the crew?"

"Yes. Ever since we left the planet the people who beamed down are having a tough time coping with that they saw."

"Oh," I nod my head, "I can believe it."

"Oh, Beverly." She affectionately rubs my arm to comfort me, "Do you need to talk?"

I smile at her, "no. You know what, Deanna? Jean Luc said something to me the other night. He told me that she would have died regardless of whether or not I had been there. I've thought a lot about it, and he's right. I'm not saying that my feelings of guilt are gone, but I don't feel as awful as I did when I first heard."

"Well," Deanna is clearly astonished, "I have to say – I'm a little frightened for my job!"

"_Deanna,_ don't be silly." I grin. "On another note, did you hear?" This is the age-old prelude to gossip, a feminine pastime that Deanna can't resist.

Her eyes widen, "no what?!"

I angle my body so that I am facing her fully, "well you probably already know…"

"Out with it, carrot top!"

"Hey!" I laugh, "calling me names will get you nowhere."

"No so really, what?"

"Kathryn Janeway is married!"

"I know! And to Chakotay no less!"

This piece of gossip takes up the better part of 20 minutes as Deanna takes out her padd and shows me his Starfleet personnel photo. Yes, that photo brought on a lot of conversation.

"So who told you about Kathryn and Chakotay?"

"Jean Luc."

Deanna's face dropped, "No."

"Yes."

"I can't believe it."

"Neither could I."

"So, you and Jean Luc…"

"_Deanna"_

"No really, Beverly. It's been a while since you two have talked about anything other than work. It was getting downright frigid between you two."

I let out a sigh, "I know."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, Deanna. Really, it's nothing."

"It's not _nothing_ so spill."

I toy with the blanket covering my lap. This is going to get interesting. "Really it is nothing. He fed me dinner last night – before I could really move my arms and then he came in for breakfast and he's coming tonight for dinner. It's nothing new – we've been doing this for years!"

"Yes, but that was before the Great Escape." Yes. That was before Kesprytt. "You never told me the whole truth about what happened down there, and neither did he."

"That's because there's nothing to tell."

"That's not how I see it." Damn Deanna's Betazoid heritage! I just stare at her. I know how this works – she'll start talking eventually. "I think something happened down there and you're going to tell me what."

"It's none of your business, Deanna." I desperately didn't want to get into this, but when she sits back and firmly anchors herself in her chair, crosses her arms, and stares I find no way out of it. "Fine. You know most of the story – how we were captured, escaped, were connected to each other by neural implants… but on the night that we spent on the planet, I found out that Jean Luc was in love with me."

"Oh. That's it?"

What? I just drop a bombshell and all that Deanna says is 'oh. That's it?'?! "What?"

"Beverly, I don't think that's any secret."

"It's not?"

"No. I'm 90% sure that the whole crew knows that the Captain is in love with you – has been for years."

I'm still stunned. "But, uh…"

"Beverly, I think you're possibly the only person who didn't know it."

I rub my face, "so the whole crew knows?"

Deanna nodded her head. I drop mine in response; "well it came as a shock to me."

"Beverly, I'm not surprised. You're always the 'last one to the party'. So, I'm guessing that based on the frigid, arctic air between you two that it wasn't a story book happy ending?"

"Well, he told me that he _had_ been in love with me, but he no longer has those feelings".

"An obvious lie."

"Deanna! Well, then we just ended the conversation went to sleep."

"There's more. I can tell. Go on."

I lay back against the pillows, "The night that we came back, we had dinner. It was so ridiculous. I wore this whole ensemble, did my hair, fixated on my makeup for ages. And then we had dinner. It went fine. We talked about the Kes and the Prytt and what had happened, and we skillfully avoided talking about the elephant in the room. Then we finished supper and moved over to the couch. Jean Luc leaned into me and said something along the lines of 'we should not be afraid to explore our feelings' to which I then very skillfully replied, 'yes we should'. And then I left."

Deanna looked like she was about to cry, "oh Beverly, why?"

"Because, Deanna, I can't."

"And why not?"

"Because it's Jean Luc. Because I can't do_ it_ again: I can't do the competition with his work and his career - I can't play second best. I can't, Heaven forbid, go through losing him if it comes to that."

"Oh, Beverly – don't you see?"

"What Deanna?"

"With the Captain, with Jean Luc, it would never be that way. I shouldn't be saying this." She got up and closed the door, ensuring privacy for me and for what she was about to say, " but I feel that I should. I feel that you should know. It was not too long ago now that I was speaking with the Captain-"

"Deanna, are you sure you should be telling me this?" I know as well as anyone the importance of confidentiality.

She simply holds up her hand and waves me off as she continues, "he told me that he is willing to give it all up. He was speaking cryptically – it was around the time he got back from LaBarre after he spent time with his brother's family. We spoke for a long time about his trip. I asked him if he ever thought about having his own family. He told me that there was only one woman he would ever want to have one with, but he knew that it would never happen – that she'd never be with him. He cited her career and personal reasons. Of course I knew it was you – who else would it be?"

I'm shocked. I'm honestly shocked and I feel tears beginning to build. "But that doesn't mean anything Deanna. He's still Jean Luc. He'd still be married to his job. I can't do it again."

"You didn't let me finish Beverly. He went onto say that he would be willing to give it all up. When he told me that he pointed all around him and then to the pips on his collar."

"He really did?"

"Yes."

"But I can't ask that of him. Starfleet, the Enterprise – that's all part of who Jean Luc is."

"Are you sure, Beverly? Or is that just how you see him?"

"Deanna, come on! The man is married to his job."

"He was telling the truth. He's in love with you, Beverly. Apparently he has been for a long time. And I also happen to know that he'd give all of this up if it meant being with you. And, I'm going to hate myself for sounding like my mother, but I happen to know that you're in love with him too. "

I sigh and I feel my shoulders sag in defeat. I reach up and rub my eyes, unsure of what to do with this information, but trying not the cry nonetheless. "Beverly," Deanna rubs my arm, "I've got to go. I have more appointments. Think about what I've said. I'll come by later." And within seconds, she is gone.


	9. Chapter 9

I really honestly did not think that it was humanly possible to be this bored. When I was younger, there was always something to do. On Caldos, Nana was always sending me out into the forest to collect plant life. Or, I helped her in the clinic, learning about natural healing methods and making due without the comforts of modern medical devices. At the Academy, it was non-stop. I did the command/medicine track. I was up at 4am for physical training and back in my dorm at 6pm to do work and get as much sleep as I could. When I think about it, my life has been on the go. I got married right out of the Academy and then not 1 year later I had Wesley. Jack died 6 years after we were married, when Wesley was only 5. I still regret that time now that I look back on it. I had always known that there was a possibility that Jack could die; that's the risk you take with joining Starfleet. But, when he actually died, I was taken by a complete surprise. In true Beverly form, I evaded all the normal steps of grieving. I had a son to support and I had to be strong for him. Yes, I broke down in my bed at night, or sometimes in the shower. But to deal with my grief I buried myself in my work and my son.

But do you want to know something? I don't think I've really ever admitted this my self before. I think that the worst part of Jack's whole death was when Jean Luc pulled away from me. It's not as if he and I were overly close after the wedding, but he and I still talked. He still came over to our home to see Jack and Wesley and we would chat. Sometimes, if he and Jack weren't on a mission together, he would call ahead to the house if he couldn't reach him in order to see what time he'd get home that evening and if it was alright if he dropped by for a little. And you know what I did? I would always tell him a time earlier than when Jack would indeed get home. Just sometimes, I wanted him all to myself. I told myself it wasn't cheating – he was just a friend. But I knew down in my heart of hearts that most of those nights, if Jack hadn't walked in on time, I might have kissed him.

See, this is why I hate being stuck in this hospital bed: not only am I frustrated that I can't move and that I still have a catheter inserted in my urethra, but now I have all this extra time where all I can do is think about the one man who I have _never_ and will _never_ be able to have – despite anything Deanna might've said to me earlier.

That's it! I push the alert button on the side of my bed and not a moment later Alyssa walks in, "Alyssa, could you please give me something to do? Other than that fact that I can't move my legs, I am a perfectly able to look over reports. Would you mind?"

Alyssa smiles and jokes, "why Doctor I thought this would almost be like a vacation for you!"

"Not quite. The natives are getting restless."

"Well if you're sure you're up to it, we do have a good amount piling up because of what happened on the planet. I'll go and get you a stack and you can work away to your heart's content. Also, what do you want for lunch?"

"I'm not hungry, Alyssa. Just the reports."

"Oh no. The only way that you're getting the reports is if you eat lunch."

"What am I four?" I roll my eyes.

"No, just stubborn." That's the truth.

"A turkey sandwich – and my reports."

Alyssa broadens her grin, "aye aye ma'am".

Not five minutes later, Alyssa returns with a turkey sandwich, a glass of water, and a big fat stack of padds. Inwardly I sigh, no more thoughts of my almost infidelity or my unrealistic relationship with my boss.

There leaves a lot to be desired with replicated food – this sandwich especially. The technology has made a lot of advances over the past 100 years, but still there is nothing better than real, cooked food. We have a galley on the Enterprise, but no one ever uses it because we have the convenience of replicators. Still though, when I get home the first thing I like to do is stop by the grocery on my way back to my apartment. I love looking at the selection of fruits and vegetables, spices, milks, yoghurts and handpicking exactly what I want in order to cook a meal. It's always been very satisfying, even if I'm still no good at it.

Goodness, these reports are no better than my own boredom! Well, at least it's something to do until dinner. Dinner with Jean Luc – you know I'm actually nervous this time? Well, I've been nervous other times as well. Three years ago, his body was taken over by an alien consciousness. I should have known that something was awry when he came down to Sickbay for a physical all on his own. But, there I was – just so damn infatuated with the man that I was just glad to see him come into Sickbay and comply with me. Then that night he asked me to dinner. I must have spent two hours getting ready. I painstakingly chose the right earrings, the right dress, and the right shoes. Dinner had been ridiculously romantic – harbinger number two that something was wrong. Jean Luc would never have been so forward with his emotions towards me. And then he asked me to dance. Whatever alien this was had done a good job of getting to know Jean Luc's crew members – he knows that I can resist dancing. I am a dancer, after all. But then, it was so anticlimactic! After all the wining, the fine dining, the dancing – I was ready for a little action. Truth be told, I got my hopes up. I remember the way that my heart rate sped over the legal limit, my respirations increased, and I started sweating. I was so aroused he could have taken me up against the wall. And then you know what happened? He said goodnight and practically shoved me out of his quarters. That night still doesn't make sense. But, in hindsight I'm grateful that we didn't make love. If we had and it hadn't really been Jean Luc there would have been so much awkwardness and so many questions. No, no as much as I wanted him to make love to me, I am exceedingly glad that nothing happened. Well, not nothing… He did kiss me. That was nice – nice enough to be fodder for my fantasies.

"Can I come in?"

My head snaps up, was I dozing off? There he is. There's that smile. He's brought dinner. He's even not wearing his uniform. He really is a handsome man! Tonight he's wearing black slacks and a black sweater. Black is his colour. I think I told him that once. I can't remember. Unlike his uniform pants, which he drowns in (which we all drown in), these are fitted. They're not tight by any means, but they give a nice hint of what's underneath – and that in itself if quite impressive. The sweater is collared, with a ¼ zipper coming down from the top. It's not zipped completely, giving a wonderful view of his strong clavicles.

I think I'm staring, "Hello Jean Luc." Is that my voice? It sounds so _breathy_. Snap out of it, Bev. "What's for dinner?"

He holds up a bag with containers of food in it. He has a smile on his face as he arranges two plates on the table along with cutlery and napkins. I smile as I watch him. His movements are very purposeful – even when setting a table. I wonder where else they might be just as skilled, "so are you going to tell me or am I going to have to wait?"

"So, impatient, Beverly. You'll find out in 1 minute." He smiles. He likes to tease me. It's our subtle way of flirting without really crossing the line.

I fiddle with the plate as he pulls out dinner. It smells amazing, like cilantro and basil. "Will's grandmother's lasagna," he says proudly as he serves me a generous portion. He knows that when it comes to me with food, he should never be abstemious. He also knows what a sucker I am for Italian.

"Jean Luc this is amazing," I say, as I take a bite. Tonight I'm hungry and I'm forgoing the propriety of waiting for him to sit down as well.

He looks amused, "I'm glad you like it." He settles back into the chair, curled up with his plate. He watches me for a few moments and then he similarly digs in. "Mmmm!" he exclaims with his mouth still full of food. I give him that knowing glance as I take another bite, "this is excellent," he manages. "I'll have to thank Will for the recipe."

"So," I swallow the bolus, "how was your day?"

He nods his head, "good, good. No complaints. The warp plasma manifold had to be recalibrated and that took a little time."

I take a sip of water, "did you get it fixed?"

"mmhmm" his mouth is still full of food. He swallows hastily, "we've finished negotiations on the planet, but we'll stay in orbit until we've been assured that the fighting has truly ceased."

"And how were the negotiations."

"Better than I expected. Apparently the fighting that broke out when we were there was not sanctioned. The leaders of the two sides truly did want to come to a compromise. Did you know that there were over one million casualties in that conflict?"

"Jean Luc that's horrible. But I can imagine; with what we saw I thought it might have been as much, or more."

"Yes," he adds somberly. "Well," he looks up trying to created a cheerier atmosphere, "how about yourself – how has your day been?"

My day? Should I even bring up the conversation with Deanna? Is this the right place to have this conversation out?

I'm beginning to feel a small tingling in my toes and a slight dull ache in my bladder. Tomorrow morning, when Selar checks my reflexes again, I'm expecting a positive Babinski. But even if there isn't (please let there be a positive Babinski!), there's still no harm in having this conversation, right? I mean, it's not ideal. I'm laying in a biobed and I haven't had a proper shower in 6 days… but we might never be alone like this again and he's been so different lately… ach what the hell?


	10. Chapter 10

"Deanna came by."

"Oh? I don't suppose that's anything new." He smiles. He knows how chatty Deanna and I are – we can't resist girl talk and gossip whenever our duty schedules allow the chance.

"No." I take a deep breath, "did you mean what you said, Jean Luc?"

"I say a lot of things, Beverly. You're going to have to be more specific."

"That night. After dinner-"

"Which night, Beverly?" his voice is soft.

I sigh as I fiddle with my blanket. I'm getting nervous, but then again I am already committed, "After," I clear my throat, "after Kesprytt."

He reaches up and puts his empty plate down on the table and sits back in his chair. He says nothing for a long while. He doesn't even look at me; he keeps his eyes on his hands, which are folded in his lap. After a while, he gets up and closes the door for which I am grateful. This is not a conversation for prying ears.

He clears his throat, "why are you doing this, Beverly?"

"What?"

"I know you don't return my feelings. That night around the campfire, you were like a steel wall, cold and rigid."

"I had to be."

"I understand," his voice is low and soft and laced with melancholy. "I understand that you don't feel the same way. I thought that you might have – there was that moment when you pushed me through the barrier. I thought – I don't know what I thought. But then we came back that evening and you made it very clear that you didn't want what I wanted from our relationship."

"Oh Jean Luc," tears have started to pool at the corners of my eyes. There is a lump as big as a boulder in my throat and in a few seconds my voice is going to betray me. I reach out my hand to take his, but he remains inelastic. "I had to, Jean Luc. I had to shut you out that evening around the campfire."

He looks up, "why?"

"Well for one I was stunned."

"Were you really?"

"Yes. No. Well I always suspected that you felt that way, but we've become so good at hiding it from one another that I didn't think you felt that way anymore. You even told me that you didn't have those feelings anymore!"

"Only after I felt that iron wall go up! I didn't want to make you uncomfortable! We were all alone; it had already become exceedingly awkward!" Now I am grateful that Jean Luc closed the door. This is definitely not a public conversation. Although, the closed door my start some rumours….

He's standing up and now he's taken to pacing, "Jean Luc, I couldn't tell you the truth."

"You hardly said _anything_ to me."

I put my head down, "I know."

"Why, Beverly, Why? After all these years, I thought there might have been something, that there could _be_ something between us. Just tell me – was it all some sort of figment of my imagination?"

"Sit down, Jean Luc." The playing field has to be even for this conversation. He sighs and drops his shoulders as he ambles over to the chair.

"We're equals in this conversation. I can't focus if you're looming over me. Not to mention I'm still bitter that I can't walk." I add with a wry smile.

He looks at me, "noted."

I regroup, "I couldn't tell you that night. I'm having a hard time telling you now."

A sudden wave of compassion washes over him, "I'm sorry. Please, go on."

"I told you that night that I had always known there was something between us – an attraction right from the start. That's true. But what I didn't tell you is that for so many years I felt, and, and I…"

"And you what, Beverly?"

"I still feel the same way."

He let out the breath that he was holding. "Why didn't you say something?"

"When, Jean Luc? When should I have said something?!"

"I don't know – that night maybe? When we got back? Years ago? Take your pick!"

"No, Jean Luc. It's all too complicated."

"What do you mean 'it's complicated'?"

"Goddammit Jean Luc! Do I have to spell it out?!"

He was getting frustrated and I was getting angry, "please do," he gestured with his hands.

I lay back against the pillow and used my arms to pivot my body so that I am facing him more fully, "when we were younger, I always found you attractive. Not just physically, but I was always drawn to you: your voice, your passion, your certainty about life, your desire for exploration and the stars. Everything about you was novel and intoxicating. But, when we met, I was with Jack and he was your best friend. It was inappropriate for me to feel that way so I just told myself, convinced myself that those feelings didn't exist. And then I got married and I thought that somehow once Jack and I made vows to one another those feelings would just go away. But they didn't. I saw you standing behind Jack at our wedding and for a moment – a few moments – I wished that your places were reversed. But I hid it over the years."

"I always felt like you were overcompensating with Jack sometimes." His voice is cutting.

"Jean Luc!" Somehow I deserved that, but it still hurts like hell.

"I'm sorry." And he is. He knows that hurt – that it was under the belt. He sits back and lets me continue.

"You never said anything."

"What was I supposed to say?!"

"Something. Anything!" I honestly hope that these bulkheads are soundproof because his voice is well raised!

"Beverly, you know full well what would have happened if I had said anything. It would have been a monstrous betrayal towards my friend and what if you hadn't reciprocated my feelings? I would have had no one! It was a lose-lose situation!"

He's right, but still – it hurts. "Well?" He asks. I cock my eyebrow in confusion, "Well, what do we do now? You know how I feel about you. I know how you feel." He pauses, "no… no actually I don't. How do you feel, Beverly? Be honest with me."

"I think you know." Please don't ask me to say it!

"No, you_ need_ to say it. I _need_ to hear the words."

I sit here looking defiantly at him. I can't see my face, but if I could I am sure it would look like it did when I was disciplining Wesley. But then he gets up and moves from the chair to sit on the edge of my bed, very close to me. I can feel the heat radiating off of his chest. His thigh bumps mine. Slowly, he takes my hand in his own, curling our fingers together, "say it, Beverly," his whispers.

If I say this to him – I mean if I really say the words, there is no going back. We can't just leave this room and resume our normal friendship. We can't fall back into comfortable ambiguity. There's no more hiding after this. There's no escape. Saying the three words he wants me to say will be committing something final and almost binding. If I walk away now, we'll never regain our friendship.

"I love you." And there it is. There are the three words I've wanted to say to him for 25 years, almost. There are the three words that I've kept buried in my heart. There are the three words that I wouldn't even admit to myself for so many years with regards to my feelings for him. And now he just sits here, holding my hand. He says nothing.

"Jean Luc, say something." I think he's still stunned, even though at this point he was expecting it.

"Beverly, I," his grip tightens on my hand. Why is this so hard for him to say? "I'm trying to come up with the words that will adequately describe how I feel about you. Saying 'I love you' seems so horribly inadequate."

"Oh, Jean Luc," tears come to my eyes for the second time this evening.

He reaches up and wipes the tears from my cheeks, "I'm sorry." He whispers.

"Don't be. I think at this stage we're both sorry."

"What do we do now?" I ask. For some reason this whole affair seems terribly anticlimactic. For some odd reason, I imagined sweeping grand gestures. I imagined roses and candles and loud declarations of love followed by passionate, frantic, almost animalistic lovemaking. But things never work out quite like they do in fleeting girlish fantasies. The reality of the situation is that I'm sitting in a bio bed, I smell awful, my hair is matted in the back, and I still can't walk. I can't even feel my groin at this stage. But, for some reason, it still feels right. It feels like a huge burden has been lifted off of my shoulders. Breathing, somehow, feels easier.

"I love you. Beverly, I love you so much. I love you so completely that loving you and wanting you has become and integral part of who I am." His hand moves through my hair.

"Ouch!" His fingers reach a snarl.

"Sorry," he grins sheepishly.

"Don't be," I whisper. "I'm sorry that this isn't more romantic. I thought that when this all finally happened – if it ever happened, which I seriously doubted for a long time – that it would be a little more 'erotic'?"

He looks down at our joined hands, "Beverly, there will be plenty of time for 'erotic'. Trust me."

I let out a small laugh, "Oh I can believe it. You know," I lean into him, lower my voice and octave and whisper, "have I ever told you about the Howard women and our insatiable libidos?"

It's fun to watch Jean Luc get all flustered. A blush creeps up his neck and goes all the way to the tip of his bald head. I can tell that he's breathing faster and my finger near his radial artery tells me that his pulse is racing. He clears his throat and shifts his body. I start to giggle. It's satisfying to see how much of an effect I have on him while even just in a hospital gown, 6 days removed from a shower and makeup.

He smiles back, "You're going to be the death of me, woman!"

I bring the conversation back to a more serious note, "what do we do now?"

The grin leaves his face and he becomes somber, "now we fix things, Beverly."

"Fix things?"

"Now make a new slate. Now we do what is painful. Now we get everything out in the open and we hold nothing back even if it terrifies us. We have to be honest with each other if this is going to have any hope of working."

"_Everything_?" This is going to be interesting.

"_Everything_," he lets go of my hand and gets up, "but not tonight." He starts to collect the dinner plates, putting them back in the container that he brought with him.

"When?" I ask, shoving the cleared table away from the bed.

"Tomorrow. It's late and I think it's enough for this evening."

"You're right," I let out a deep yawn.

He dims the lights, kisses my forehead, and whispers, "goodnight, Beverly. I love you."

I have a feeling that it's not the last time I'll hear those words.


	11. Chapter 11

**Please, no one gripe about the ages! I know that "according to cannon" Jean Luc is much older than Beverly. But, I think that cannon was poorly thought out and in the grand scheme of things, it never made sense that Jean Luc and Jack were supposed to be 20 or some odd years older than Beverly. So, I am throwing that bit cannon out the window for the sake of this story. Enjoy! **

My situation this morning reminds me of an old Earth movie that I saw when I younger called Groundhog Day. In the film, the main character keeps waking up every day to the exact same scenario. Essentially, he's stuck in what we now would call a time-space feedback loop. I thought the movie was funny at the time, but now my situation is all too similar.

"Selar," I begin as she enters the room, "last night I regained some tingling sensation in my legs and I have some feeling in my groin this morning. Would you mind checking the Babinski again?"

The calm Vulcan reaches into the cabinet to get the reflex hammer, "certainly, Doctor. And I am pleased to hear that the feeling has returned. Are you able to move your toes at all for me?"

"I haven't even tried yet," but sure enough as a try to wiggle my toes, there they go! I feel victorious almost – victorious and satisfied.

"Excellent, now let us see about the reflexes." She places the hammer at my heel like she did the first time and as she drags the point upward, sure enough, my foot dorsiflexes and my toes fan. Textbook! I breathe out a sigh of relief. Now I am one step closer to getting out of here!

Typically courteous, "Doctor, would you mind if we began some passive exercises with your legs? I am afraid that after these few days of dormancy that the muscles are getting stiff."

"Of course, Selar. Do what you need to."

"Good. But, before I do, I want to discuss removing the catheter. You said that you have regained the feeling in your groin?"

"No, not fully. But I am able to feel when I have to urinate."

"Ok. The only thing I am worried about, as you know, is that you might not have full control over your external sphincter yet and that might prove messy if we remove the catheter now. But, let's see how you feet at the end of the day. Alright?"

I nod. I know she's right, but getting this catheter out will be a major step towards me being able to go back to my quarters."

She removes the sheet from my legs. Boy, do I have to shave when I get out of here! "Can you pivot your body while I swing your legs off the bed?"

I turn my torso as Selar grabs hold of my legs and brings me into a sitting position where my legs are hanging over the bed. For the next 30 minutes she begins rotating the legs. She painstakingly goes through all the axis of rotation as she adducts, abducts, extends and flexes the thigh around the hip and then the leg around the knee. I have to say that it does feel nice to have my legs moved after a week of dormancy.

She looks up from her task, "if you are able to, I want you to focus on moving the leg along with me. It will be greatly beneficial to your recovery."

The next 20 minutes I try to focus as much as I can on the movements and by the end, I am able to minimally help her with the simple actions.

"I think that is enough for this morning. I will return at noon and we will talk about the catheter and see if anything has improved."

I let out a long sigh. Selar notices, "remember, Doctor, this is a process. You have to be patient."

"Yes. Thank you, Selar."

She bows her head, "I will return later."

I have no reason to be frustrated. For a 40-year old woman who has just suffered a traumatic injury, I am making a remarkable recovery. But, I am still impatient. I sit looking at the wall. I'm apprehensive about my next conversation with Jean Luc. Last night at least we got everything out in the open. But now comes the hard part. There's so much to say. We have 25 years of feelings, hurt, and anguish. He's right though: we need a new slate. We have to be honest with each other. Both of us know this is the last relationship either of us is going to have. Jean Luc is in his 50's and I'm in my mid 40's. I think that both of us are ready for some modicum of permanence after 25 years of being constantly on the go. At least, I hope Jean Luc is. I'm interested to know what he meant when he told Deanna that he was ready to give all of this up. I wonder if he meant it; that it wasn't just a hypothetical statement made about a woman who, back then, he didn't know he could have.

I keep squirming. I'm nervous about this conversation. I'm apprehensive because I don't know if he is going to want to hear what I have to say or I'm going to want to hear what he has to say. I'm not even sure that I want to have this conversation in Sickbay. Having to sleep where you work is bad enough. But having to have this conversation would probably just be overkill.

The morning passes uneventfully. Deanna is busy with her work. She sent me a message that she'd be by later, and Jean Luc hasn't come for breakfast. I think he's trying to give me space. And you know what? I'm grateful. If he came here, we'd have to have the conversation. No, for right now I am grateful for the solitude.

So, I sit here alone. I try to move my legs, focusing in on the movements. I'm patient and focused, only because I want to get out of here. I of all people know that you can't rush these things, but I am sure as hell trying. By the end of the hour, I can move my toes with greater range of movement other than a slight flexion. Next I work on moving my knees. It's tiring and soon I fall asleep. I swear after this is over, I am never going to need to sleep again!

Selar comes in at 1400 and brings me lunch. Breakfast had been small. I hadn't wanted any of the muffin that Alyssa left for me on my bed table, but I ate most of it anyway out of courtesy. She lays the sandwich in front of me, and wastes no time in getting down to her questions.

"Are you able to squeeze around the base of the catheter?"

To be honest I hadn't even tried. So, I try what I had been taught is called the Kegel exercise. Sure enough, I am able to mildly squeeze around the plaint plastic tube, "a bit," I say.

Selar knows how much I want to get this process moving. She's being a little more aggressive than she would be with a normal patient because not only am I her boss, but also she empathizes in her own Vulcan way with how helpless and frustrated I feel.

"Very well. I am going to remove the catheter, but –" she pauses, "I know that you will not like this, I am going to have you wear-"

"Okay, Selar," I know what she's going to say, and I really don't want to hear the words said. I'm not 120 years old, but I get the picture and I know why it's necessary.

She cocks her eyebrow, the Vulcan form of smiling, "very well."

"So," I cut right to the chase, "can I go back to my quarters?"

She's hesitant, "I'm inclined to say yes only because you are physician and I am assuming that you know your limits. We can give you a hover chair if you need to get around. However, I'd like to see how well you can stand on your own – if you can at all."

I don't know how well I can stand. I only have basic reflexes and sensory perception back in my legs, "very well," I answer cautiously.

I start to pivot like I did this morning, but Selar stops me by putting out her hand, "let's remove the catheter first."

Even though I am grateful to be having the catheter removed, it's still embarrassing. At this point in my life and my career, I should be above these feelings. I shouldn't be so damn prudish about basic bodily smells and functions. I'm certainly not this way with my patients. In fact, after doing my job for over two and a half decades and dealing with the anatomy and body functions of over 100 different species, I am used to just about everything. But now, I suddenly feel so self-conscious. And it really is silly to feel this way. Selar is just as professional as I am – as all physicians are- and I am sure that it does not faze her in the least to see me naked or to touch me in any 'intimate' way. But to me, because she is my colleague, it's very personal. I just try to block it out as she lifts the sheet and spreads my legs. It helps that Vulcans have no real facial expressions. I absolutely hate the smell, though and it reminds me how desperately I need to get out of here and into my own quarters where I can take a really long, hot shower.

I feel her hands and then I feel the thin tub slide out of my urethra. Selar replaces the sheet for privacy as she moves to the cabinet to get a pair of small absorbent underwear, "just a precaution," she assures me.

She quietly removes her exam gloves, "alright. Now I'd like to see if we can get you standing. If you can stand, I will discharge you."

Incentive. She mirrors her earlier action by grabbing my legs and swinging them around the bed while I move my torso. She leans in close and I put my arms around her neck as she lifts me into a standing position. It feels freeing to be standing – to feel my feet firmly planted on the floor. I can feel the faint buzz of this ships powerful engines vibrate my feet and that familiar feeling soothes me. Selar's grip on my waist lightens as she tries to gauge how well I can keep myself up. She moves away slowly and I remain standing, feeling more and more confident with every millimeter that she moves away.

"Good." She states plainly. It's at times like these when I wish that Vulcans expressed emotion. This is a milestone for me and I was rather hoping that I'd at least get an excited pat on the back. But, no – that's would not be a very Vulcan-thing to do. I suppose that being discharged is enough.

"Now, I am just curious, but are you able to walk at all." That's asking a lot.

"I don't know."

"Try."

I try to move my leg. I give it every bit of effort, but I only get a small movement – a small extension. Nothing, in fact that resembles walking. But, I try not to get discouraged. It will come back.

Selar's words mirror my thoughts, "it will return. You are making good progress. I'm going to discharge you to your quarters with a hover chair and a walker, which I have already beamed there. Are you comfortable with this?"

"Yes." The truth is that I am a little nervous. But, I'm sure that I'll get the hang of it. I can stand on my own, which means that I can at least stand in the shower propped against something. I have the hover chair in case I need it and I can train myself on the walker. I've trained countless patients how to use it in the past so I am well familiar with the motions needed. The full use of my arms gives me a huge level of mobility so I will be well able to care for myself.

"Very well. Are you sure, Doctor?" She asks one last time.

"Yes, Selar. Thank you for everything."

"My pleasure, Doctor. I will come to your quarters this evening and check on you after my duty shift ends."

"Thank you." And I am thankful. Selar and I have never been close, but her care and vigilance over me for the past week has been touching. She knows exactly how to handle me and take care of me without appearing overbearing and for that she will have my eternal gratitude.

She leaves me standing as she retrieves the hover chair. She sits me down in the chair, "do not hesitate to comm. me if you run into any trouble."

"Thank you. I will." And with that, a swirl of blue deposits me in my familiar quarters and I breath a deep sigh of relief.


	12. Chapter 12

Maneuvering around my quarters is a lot more work than I thought it would be. My hover chair keeps bumping into things, mostly due to the fact that I can't steer it for my life! It's moments like these that I realize why I had to repeat flight class and why I failed my driving test _twice_. Eventually though, I am able to make it to the bathroom.

"Computer, hot shower. Set temperature to 41 Celcius."

"Acknowledged." The cool automated tone responds as the shower activates.

Senior staff quarters on the Enterprise are functionally luxurious. My bathroom is quite large. It's equipped with a water shower and a sonic shower, a modestly sized bath, and of course a toilet and a large double sink.

I set the lock on the hover chair and then slowly use my arms to bring me into a standing position as I set up my full body weight on the walker. It's getting easier to drag myself along. Thankfully, I don't have to drag myself that far.

The hot water feels soothing as it pelts against me. I try not to take water showers that often. I love them, but I find myself wasting a lot of time when I do take one. And baths – well I try not to go there. I don't know how people didn't manage to spend hours and hours in the shower back 150 years ago before they invented the sonic shower. I often find myself lost in thought while standing under the pouring hot water. It's almost too soothing and relaxing to be considered a functional activity. But, right now, I need it. Yes, the sonic shower will give a more complete clean; removing all traces of dirt and aberrant bacteria from the skin while leave the natural flora. But something about it isn't quite as refreshing as taking an actual water shower. I angle myself to lean against the wall as I reach up and scrub my scalp. It feels good to feel the suds working through the long strands of my hair, slowly removing ever piece of dust and every tangle. Then, I lean under the water and feel it all wash away. I take care to clean every other inch of skin before calling for the computer to stop the shower.

Slowly I wring out my hair and once again lean on the walker. It's a slow process but I am thankful that I've been able to clean myself.

"Beverly?" A soft baritone rumbles from the foyer.

"Jean Luc?" I call back from the bathroom. It's no surprise that he's able to gain access to my quarters since I gave him the code. But still I wasn't expecting him until much later.

"I just took a shower. It might be a while before I'm out! I'm moving rather slowly…"

I hear his footsteps moving closer until he's right outside the door, "do you need any help?"

I look down. I am completely naked propped up against my walker and standing in the shower. It might be faster if he could just hand me a towel that way I wouldn't have to sit down and get the hover chair wet. In my haste to get into the shower, I had left the towels on the other side of the bathroom near the sonic shower. Why did I do that? So, yes, a little help might be needed.

He seems to sense my apprehension, "I won't look I promise." I hear a smile in his voice. Yes, this is not the way that I want Jean Luc to see me naked. But, what the hell?

"Umm… would you mind getting me a towel?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, but don't look." The layout of my bathroom is similar to his. He opens the door and looks immediately to his left towards the sonic shower and grabs the plush white towels hanging on the wall. He courteously keeps his eyes away from the large mirror and down towards the floor as he hands the towels to me. Still looking at the floor, "anything else?"

He's smiling, gauging how much I'm going to let him see, "no but I need something to wear. Would you mind going out and getting me… um.."

"Undergarments?" Well he doesn't mess around!

"Yes and a nightgown? It should be hanging on my closet door. And the _undergarments_ are in the top right and top left drawer of the bureau closest to the closet. "

"Of course." He's still smiling at the floor, clearing amused by my hesitancy. It shouldn't be this awkward for me! If everything works out, we're going to be having sex very soon. If that's the case, then why am I so embarrassed?

I dry my body and pat my hair dry. I hear rusting in the other room and I smile with what Jean Luc comes back with. His eyes are still looking down when he comes back in, "it's alright, Jean Luc. I'm in a towel."

His grin widens, "yes, I know Beverly, but rummaging through your underwear was already too much. I don't think that I'm going to be able to look at you essentially naked and still be able to walk normally."

I smile back at him and giggle, "Understood."

He holds out the underwear and I almost lose it, "Jean Luc, what is this?!"

I can tell he's very pleased with himself, "well you didn't make any exact specifications. I like these."

"I'm sure you do." I say as I swipe the thin black lace bra and underwear out of his hands. This man is unbelievable! I can already tell that our life together – especially our sex life – is going to be anything but dull.

"He lays the rest of my clothing on the hover chair, "I'll wait for you in the living room. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," I call back at him as he leaves the bathroom, "anything but sandwiches!" I've had too many of those for the time being. Getting the under wear on is like doing acrobatics. Since my legs aren't fully mobile the whole process involves me sitting down, bending down, stretching up, pulling up… by the end of it I needed another nap. I knew it was going to be such an undertaking, which is why I asked for the nightgown over bottoms.

I should have taken the hover chair, but doing so makes me feel like more of an invalid than I already am. So, I take my time and use the walker, hobbling inch by inch out into the living room.

"It smells wonderful in here, Jean Luc." He's opened a bottle of wine and casually set the table. "What are we having?"

"I was thinking that shepherd's pie sounded good." He takes the casserole dish out of the replicator and sets it on the table,

"Sounds lovely," my voice strains a bit as I disengage myself from the walker and sit at the table.

He fills the wine glasses and starts to serve our meal, "so," he begins, "happy to be out of Sickbay?"

"Monumentally. How was the day?"

"Fine. Busy. Listen, Beverly," he stops and looks at me, "I'm sorry I didn't come by for breakfast, I-"

"No, Jean Luc. I was glad you didn't. We needed time. We're both overwhelmed."

"Yes. I wasn't sure if it was too much too soon, so I just went to work."

"It's fine, Jean Luc. But I'm glad you're here now."

He gives me a genuine smile, "me too."

As usual I'm hungry and so is he, making our dinner a comfortably silent one. I think we both know what's coming after. As I finish my last bite, I feel comfortably full so I sit back and watch him. It takes him a minute to realize that I'm staring. He looks up, "what?"

A smile has crept across my face, unbeknownst to me. "Nothing," I whisper, "I'm just watching you."

He smiles back. It feels good to finally be honest with each other. It's freeing not to have to couch every glance and every word. He finishes his dinner and sits back, returning my stare.

"We need to talk," I begin.

"Yes."

"And I want to talk this evening. I've had time to think and I want to get everything out in the open sooner rather than later."

"Me too," he takes a sip of his wine and gathers the plates, taking the short walk to the replicator to recycle them. "I, uh," he sits back down, "I haven't been able to focus all day. I kept thinking about you."

"I kept thinking about this conversation. Jean Luc, we have to be honest with each other. As much as it's going to hurt, I don't want you to hold anything back because I'm not going to hold anything back."

He nodded his head, "I want you to tell me everything. I think that we owe that to one another."

"Let's move to the couch," I point my head in the direction of the sofa.

He gets up and takes the wine glasses, "do you need any help?"

"No," I pull myself into a standing position, leaning against the walker, "but it might take me a few minutes." Thankfully, the living room and dining room are essentially the in the same space and the sofa is only a few paces from the dining room table. I'm glad that Jean Luc hasn't insisted on helping me move around. He understands my need to be independent. He's very perceptive of my needs as I am of his. This is not only the reason why we are such close friends, but also part of the reason why we love each other.

Not 2 minutes later I am comfortably seated on the sofa. I'm glad he's chosen to sit next to me. I'm a sucker for symbolism and his sitting next to me, not across from me on the chair, says something. It says that this is a joint effort. It says that we are equals.

"So," he starts, "where should we begin?"

"Well…"


	13. Chapter 13

**I love hearing from you guys, so if you're liking it or even if you don't - drop me a note and make my day :). Thanks for reading guys.**

"Well I suppose we should just get the ugly bits out of the way first. Why Vash?" I go right for the jugular.

His eyes almost bug out of his head at my directness, "Honestly? She was attractive and she wanted me. I met Vash while I was on shore leave. I found her intriguing and mysterious. She was like a puzzle that I wanted to solve."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Yes." I knew that was going to be the answer, but I needed to hear him say it.

"Your relationship with her made me doubt you."

"Why?"

"Because Jean Luc! She is a conniving vulture of a woman."

"I know that, Beverly."

"It made me think of you as a man only after one thing."

"You know that I'm not. I was just swept up in the moment. Beverly, at that point it had been years since a woman showed any interest in me."

"What about Janice?"

"That's not fair, Beverly. I was with her when you were with Jack."

"Fair enough."

"It didn't last anyway. And now she's happily married."

"Were you in love with Janice?"

"At the time I thought I was."

I looked down at my hands, "And Kamala?"

"A fleeting crush."

"Were there others, Jean Luc?"

"No. Truthfully,_ no_." he looked right at me. "Odan." There was a heavy bitterness in the way he said the name.

My head shot up, "yes?"

"It hurt me when you were with him."

Hurt him? "What do you mean Jean Luc?"

"Were you in love with him?"

"Yes. I thought that I was at least."

"Did you make love with Will Riker that night?"

"No. No, that I couldn't do. I knew that it was Odan inside of him, but no – I didn't. It would have been too much even for me."

"I was so, so jealous of Odan. I was so jealous I couldn't see straight. He came into my office and spoke with me about you. Throughout whole conversation all I could think about was how much I wanted to airlock him," he smirked.

I smiled, but only for a moment, "I knew I was hurting you. I could see it all over you. But I did it anyway. I'm sorry Jean Luc."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Beverly... Was there anyone else after Jack died – before you came on the Enterprise?"

"No. Truthfully, Jean Luc, the only man that I ever wanted was you and I knew that everyone else – that every other relationship - wasn't going to last or be worth it in the long run because I always held out this fantasy that one day we'd be together."

"I've always held out that hope as well, Beverly."

"But, Jean Luc I don't really think that I'm the reason that you've never seriously gotten involved with someone. I think you're too in love with your career and the image of who you are to be with anyone."

"Do you really think that I'm that shallow, Beverly?" he is really and truly offended. It's all over his face.

"I… I don't know, Jean Luc. I feel that with you work always comes first."

"I've thought the same about you. I mean, Beverly, you left your son for a year to take a prestigious position on Earth!"

"That's not fair, Jean Luc!"

"But it's true, Beverly."

"Wesley was old enough to make the decision for himself. He wanted to stay aboard the ship – with you."

"I know, but… I know that it was his decision. But if he was my son, I don't know if I could have left him like that."

I'm incredibly offended, but I am also touched. It's a strange set of emotions to be had at the same time. All I can say is: "I know. And I think I'm angry with you because I regret that year so much. I was so hurt when Wes wanted to stay on board to Enterprise rather than come with me. But the truth of the matter is that I was running away from you."

"Running?"

"I came on board the ship with these wild expectations that you and I would see each other, sparks would fly, you'd break down tell me that you missed me and you loved me, I'd do the same and we'd live happily ever after. But, it didn't work that way. You were cold, almost hostile towards Wes and me. And it hurt."

"I'm so sorry, Beverly. I was overcompensating a bit back then. I thought that if I kept you at arms length for some more time then I could convince myself that I didn't love you anymore. But the truth is that when I saw you come off that turbo lift that first day, I knew that I still had those feelings. Years of separation hadn't dulled them in the least. And then," he cleared his throat of the emotion, "when I first saw Wesley, I was suddenly so overcome with jealousy. He looked _just_ like Jack. And for a moment, I was so envious that he didn't look like me…"

I moved myself closer to him on the sofa. At this point there were tears coming from both our eyes, "Oh Jean Luc," was all that I could say as my tears came. We stayed silent for a time and let the air clear. But then I had to know: "When did you fall in love with me?" My voice is softer than a whisper.

He takes a sip of his wine and once again clears this throat; "I fell in love with you, honestly, when Jack introduced us."

"Oh Jean Luc, that's so cliché!" I reach up and wipe my eyes as a smile creeps over my face.

He chortles, "I know. But you took my breath away. I can still see you in my mind's eye. Everything about you was, _is,_ intoxicating. And from then on I just kept on falling for you. Do you remember all those excuses I used to make – the ones where I told you and Jack almost every time that we were scheduled to go out that I couldn't meet you because I had a tutoring appointment for temporal mechanics?"

"The ones that you always seemed _so eager_ to get to?" I smile, remembering how Jack and I thought he was really running off to meet a girl.

"Well there really was no tutor. In fact, I got an A in temporal mechanics."

"So why the excuse?"

"Because I was so jealous. I was just running away."

"And you. When did you fall in love with me?"

"Well like I said earlier, I knew that there was an attraction between us right from the start. But, I have to say that it was at the Christmas party that Walker threw – do you remember which one?"

He scratches his head and looks up at the ceiling, "was it the one where he hired the Orion Slave girls to jump out of a cake?"

"No, but what a night! Remember what a disaster that was?" I'm laughing just remembering how drunk Walker was: even when he found out that the Orion Slaves girls were really Orion Slave _boys_ he still wanted to dance with all of them.

He chuckles at the memory, "Oh," realization dawns on him, "I remember, it was during the first year that we knew each other. I was set to go back to LaBarre the following day to spend the holiday with my family. The night before though, you, me, Jack, and Walker decided to meet at a restaurant and have dinner. You and I were the first ones to the restaurant. How long were we waiting for Jack and Walker?"

"2 hours!" I exclaim.

"And when they finally got there, they told us they had gotten lost!" He smiles, but then his expression becomes staid, "I remember how beautiful you looked. You were wearing a red dress that stopped just above your knees. It hugged you in all the right places and I couldn't stop starting. Your hair was really long then and it hung down over your shoulders like a wedding veil."

"I can't believe you remember all that," my voice is soft. When will I ever stop underestimating this man? "Yes. Well that was _the_ night. We talked the whole time, and by the end, I didn't even want Jack and Walker to show up."

There is a sadness that's lingering between us. It's a sadness born of lost time and lost opportunities.

"Did you love Jack?" And there's the question.

"Yes. I did. But I didn't love him fully. I still feel like I was unfaithful to him."

"You weren't Beverly; we never shared anything more than a few looks."

"We might not have had sex, Jean Luc, but in my heart I was unfaithful."

"I used to love those times we spent together."

"Which ones?"

"The times when we were waiting for Jack to come home."

"You remember that?"

"I loved talking with you. You understood me and shared my passions. I loved listening to you talk about your patients and all the new things you were experiencing in the hospital. I knew that you were unattainable. I knew that you were Jack's. But I loved coming over to your little apartment to watch you cook or to play with Wesley. Sometimes I let myself think that you both were mine."

I am reminded, as tears once again come to my eyes, that this evening is an emotional rollercoaster. "Do you still want that, Jean Luc?"

He doesn't hesitate, "with all that I am."

And now comes the clincher, "but are you ready for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you ready to be committed to me and our children – if we can have them – full time? Because I won't do it again, Jean Luc; I won't compete with your work. I won't get in the way of your career if that's what you want. I hate sounding like this. I hate making _you_ choose. But for _me_ – I can't marry you and have a baby with you knowing that the next assignment or the next away mission could cost you your life. I just don't think that I have it in me."

"I know."

"And I know that your first love has always been space-"

"That's not true, Beverly. Space _was_ my first love. When I was a boy, all that I wanted to do was to be out among the stars. I made being a captain my goal. And, I've achieved it. I have everything that I originally set out to have. But, I feel empty. I've felt empty for a long time. Robert is a stodgy old soul, but he has a wife and a son. He's happy, in spite of his mildly depressive and contrary disposition. But, when I went to see him, I wanted what he had. I left my family home with an ache. I told myself, though, that I'd give all of this up if I ever had the chance to have a family. But, the truth is Beverly that I never thought I was going to be able to have a family. You've always been the only woman I've wanted. You've always been the only woman I want to bear my children. So, thinking that we never had a chance, I tried to find as much satisfaction as I could in my job. But, I'd give this up, Beverly. I'd give this up in an instant just for the possibility of us."

Deanna was right and she hasn't even known him as long as I have. I feel so ashamed at how completely I misjudged him. All I can say is, "I'm so sorry, Jean Luc. I am so, so sorry at how I judged you."

"It's alright, Beverly."

"No. It's certainly not _all right_. You're my best friend and the _man I love_ and I completely misjudged you!"

"You couldn't have know, Beverly. I never told you. I didn't want to pressure you or make this awkward between us."

I sit in silence for a few moments, soaking in what he told me. I don't even feel him slide close to me and take me in his arms. I look at him as he lifts my form into his lap. And at once, he surrounds me. There's that scent that is so completely and matchlessly Jean Luc. I bury my face in his neck and I start to sob. I sob for fools we've both been. I sob for all the lost time. I sob for Jack. I sob for the girl who died protecting me. I sob for all the frustration I've felt these past few days. And he just holds me, rocking me back and forth as he rubs my back.

"Jean Luc," my voice is scratchy.

"Mmmm?" He kisses my hair.

"I want it all."

"Me too."

"So what do you want to do about it?"

He turns me so that I'm looking at him, "what do you want to do?"

"No. I need to hear it from you."

"You sure?"

"Yes." What could he possibly think that I needed to be sure about?

"I want to marry you."

"Yes." He smiles. Wait, did this just happen?

"I want babies."

I smile, "yes".

"I finally want to settle down." And there it is.

I feel as if a leaden noose has been loosened from my neck and my newfound ability to breathe is almost too overwhelming. Is this really happening or is this a trick by yours truly?

"Really, Jean Luc? You'd really be willing to leave all of this and you wouldn't resent me for it?"

He chuckles and looks right at me, "it's my idea, remember?"

I hug him and bring him closer to me. This is the most physical contact that we've ever had. And then it hits me that we've gone through all of this – we've had this huge cathartic conversation and professed our love to one another, but we've never kissed. There have been so many fantasies: I've put a lot of thought into the way his lips felt and how they moved with mine. And now I-

"Beverly?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're a million miles away."

"I want to kiss y-" And before I can finish his lips cover mine. He catches my mouth when it's open and pushes his tongue past my lips immediately. He tastes just like I thought: red wine with a hint of licorice. It's wonderfully sweet and I can't get enough. I use my arms to bring him closer to me. I want to feel all of him. I want to taste as much as I can. We stay locked together until we run out of air. I pull away first, panting and trying to catch my breath. I don't think that I'll ever tire of kissing this man. For the first time, ever, it feels right. Nothing feels forced. Nothing is contrived. Our lips fit together like two stray pieces of a jigsaw. Over and over again, I'm struck with the rightness of this situation.

"Am I moving too fast?" He asks meekly.

"No. Why?" I lean back into him.

"Because in one night I've just asked you to marry me and bear my children after 25 years of successfully hiding my feelings towards you."

I laugh a little remembering what Deanna said earlier, "well, Jean Luc I hate to break it to you, but a little bird tells me that your feelings for me aren't so opaque to the outside world as you might think."

"Oh?" He's intrigued.

"Apparently so. This little black haired bird tells me that _whole crew_ knows that you're in love with me."

"Huh," he shifts and redistributes my weight on his lap, "when did Deanna tell you this?"

I chuckle at how instinctively he knows it's Deanna, "yesterday when she told me that I was underestimating you."

"Hmm?" he cocks his eyebrows in question.

"Let's just say that Deanna helped me come to my senses and told me, basically, what I blind fool I am."

"Leave it to Deanna Troi… We can't live with her-"

"Because she'll read your thoughts!" I giggle. Then I fondly add, "but we certainly can't live without her."

I feel him nod his head in agreement. "So," he begins, but trails off.

"So?"

"So, I think we should settle down."

"Ok. Any ideas?"

"Yes. A couple of months ago, Alynna Nechayev asked me if I wanted to take over the operation of Starfleet Academy –"

"Oh Jean Luc! That's wonderful."

"So, I told her that I would think about it."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"I don't know. It's a lot of responsibility. It would be taking on more responsibility than what I currently have, and I'm not sure I want that."

"Well that do you want?"

"I want to teach archaeology and publish Professor Galen's research. What we found on that planet is extremely significant and I want to write about it."

"Is there a position open at the Academy?"

"Well, I was thinking that maybe the Academy isn't really where I want to be."

"Are you thinking of leaving Starfleet?"

"Maybe. I don't know. What about you?"

"Well, I'm still undecided. I want to be able to practice as well as do research. But like you, I don't know if I want to stay in Starfleet. There are a lot of good things other than Starfleet and its principles and I think I'd like to explore those options."

I feel him let out a yawn as a wave of hot air grazes my temple. We're tired. It's been a long day.

"Jean Luc, let's go to bed."

"Agreed."

"Will you carry me?"

His only response is to sweep me into his arms, carry me the short distance to my bed and lay me underneath the covers.

"Stay," I whisper. Not a second later I feel a warm body climb in behind me, a strong arm wrap possessively around my waist, and a warm kiss on my neck.

"Goodnight, Beverly. I love you."

**Stay tuned**


	14. Chapter 14

"_Beverly_"

"Don't you _Beverly_ me, Deanna!"

I can feel Deanna's eyes on me as I balance myself on the training bars. I've been recovering well. It's the 11th day since my injury and spinal shock takes around 14 days to recover starting from the date of damage. Now, I'm able to walk, albeit slowly.

"Beverly!" Deanna's cornering me like a cat, standing right in my way as I make it to the end of the bars, "tell me."

"Can't you figure it out? You're the telepath here." I smile. She can't resist.

"Well I know something has changed, but I want to know the whole story. Did you talk with the Captain?"

I really can't keep it a secret from her. Jean Luc and I plan to tell the senior staff only after we contact Starfleet. But, I suppose that Deanna is a special case, "We're resigning."

"What?" I can tell that is the last thing she was expecting, "what do you mean?"

"We're-"

"You realize that's ridiculous, right?"

"No. Deanna, we both want to have a life outside of Starfleet."

"I can understand that. But, Starfleet has been a mainstay in both of your lives for the better part of 35 years! And in one night you've just decided to _leave?" _ Her tone is almost angry, and I'm suddenly confused.

"Deanna, this wasn't just some spur of the moment decision! We both want to do different things with our lives – notably we want to get married and have children and we're not going to do it on a starship!"

And then the tone in the room changed, "Married! Children!" Deanna squeals.

I hadn't realized how completely rigid my body had become when I was on the defensive until I dropped my shoulders, "yes D-"

"So, how did he ask you? Was it romantic?"

"Well, not outwardly romantic per se, but-"

"Well how did he ask you?"

"He didn't really ask me, he just said something along the lines of 'I want to marry you and have babies' and I just said 'yes'."

"Beverly, this all sounds so anti-climactic…." Deanna is almost disappointed that I didn't mention bouquets of wild roses, horse drawn carriages, music, poetry, and champagne.

"It wasn't actually. It was all very perfectly Jean Luc and I. It's a long story but on the first night back in my quarters we had a long discussion about our previous relationships and how we had hurt each other over the years and that was…well… painful. But then we started talking about how we fell in love and what we both wanted from the future and then it just sort of happened."

I can tell by Deanna's posture and facial expression what's coming next, "_so…"_ so I play along only because it's incredibly entertaining to see her become this giddy, "so, how was he?" Typical Deanna.

"Deanna!" I'm not really surprised, "I haven't – we haven't."

"YOU HAVEN'T?!"

"Deanna – it's not all about sex." I say that, but that's not the _whole _truth. I would have made love to Jean Luc that night, but I implicitly promised myself that I wouldn't until I could walk and properly move. Not only that, but we were both exhausted. Jean Luc was right: there will be plenty of time for erotic. And I plan on making good use of that time.

"Beverly, I can't believe you. I remember with Odan you were in bed the second day that you met him."

"Deanna! That was different. This is Jean Luc – he's not some wild, passion filled fling."

"That's not the whole truth."

"No. I want to make love to him when I can walk. I want him to slam me against the wall, not hold me up against it. And I'm very _assertive_ in the bedroom and being partially paralyzed does not lend to being my kind of assertive."

"I see. So, when are you getting married? Did you decide?"

"Move, Deanna," as I push her out of the way and hobble over to where my water bottle is. It feels good to be able to walk somewhat. Over the past day and a half I've been able to get rid of the hover chair, although I'm still partially dependent on the walker. "No. We haven't decided. But, something small would suit us both."

"Maybe you should have a Betazoid wedding?" Deanna jokes.

I laugh, imagining everyone naked – not a pretty sight, "No, Deanna. I'll leave that for yours and Will's wedding!"

"Will and I are not together, Beverly."

"Deanna –" should I even get into this? "Well I don't know why! How long have you been on and off now? A decade?"

"12 years…" And then I see payback, "and how long was it with you, 25 years?"

I put my hands up in surrender "ok, ok! Touché,"

"The time is 1400 hours" the cool tone of the computer stated plainly.

"Appointment?" Deanna nods, picking up her uniform jacket and making her way towards the doors.

"I set an alarm. Take care, Beverly and congratulations! I'll talk to you later."

I might have been jovial and maybe even a little cavalier with Deanna about what Jean Luc and I are about to do. But the truth is that I'm a little nervous. I'm nervous about Jean Luc and I making the transition from important starship captain and in-demand-doctor to civilian. Jean Luc in particular has been able to live quite selfishly in his personal life for the past 47 years. Granted, Jean Luc is not a selfish individual, but I still think that living with another person and then becoming a father going to take some getting used to. We have time, though. I'm also worried about how Command is going to take our resignations. I'm sure that no one is going to be happy to see him leave and many are going to be tempted to lure him back.

Come on, Bev, you won't solve anything by worrying!

Even though Jean Luc has been one of my best friends for 25 years, it's still very new for me to come to terms with him as my fiancé and soon my husband and lover. It's such a huge and drastic change in our relationship. Even though Deanna is aghast that we haven't yet made love, I'm partially grateful that we didn't. I would by lying if I said that I did not want to. I do want to. I want to desperately. He's been in my fantasies since I met him. Those fantasies have changed over the years, but they have always involved Jean Luc. I've always imagined him to be a passionate lover. I can see him and I making love slowly while we reverently explore one another.

Okay that's enough! Back to work. I resume my previous position between the walking bars and try desperately not to distract myself with thoughts of Jean Luc's body covering mine and screaming my name in the throes of passion. If that's what I'm going to think about – the physical therapy training room would not be the most prudent location…


	15. Chapter 15

"I am satisfied, Doctor," I smile; this is high praise coming from a Vulcan. "According to scans you have regained 87% functionality in your lower limbs."

"Yes, thank you," but I'm itching to know, "When can I get back to work?"

"That depends on you. I would like you to take another day off just to be sure, but you may return tomorrow if you wish."

"Thank you, Selar." She nods her head and turns away as I make my way out of Sickbay. It's late and I want to meet Jean Luc to tell him the good news. I haven't seen much of him over the past two days.

We received a distress beacon coming from the gamma sector. When the Enterprise arrived at the location, we found an abandoned Federation shuttlecraft. Data ran a full analysis and scanned the surrounding area of space for aberrant warp signatures. After subsequent investigation and after contacting other Starfleet vessels in the vicinity, it was determined that the occupants of the craft – 4th year Academy Cadets on a routine away mission- had been kidnapped by Pravian Pirates. What we know about the Pravians is very little other than that they are a roguish group of wanderers. They have no real home world, living their entire lives out on spacecrafts. The Enterprise followed the warp trail into the epsilon sector one light year away and easily located the Pravian vessel. To everyone's relief, the Pravian ship was severely outclassed by the Enterprise. Their shields were easily penetrable and the two cadets had thankfully not been harmed. When the cadets were questioned about why they were in the gamma sector, they reported that the navigational array on the shuttle had been malfunctioning. Before they could fix the problem, however, they had been taken by the Pravians who had intended to use them as hostages.

Suffice it to say that in all the hullaballoo with the Pravians coupled with my rigorous physical therapy schedule, Jean Luc and I haven't spoken or seen one another since we got engaged two nights ago.

We're engaged now. I have to keep reminding myself that. But even still, I have butterflies in my stomach on the way to his quarters for dinner. The door slides open easily as I finish entering his code, "Beverly?" I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing his voice. It's so distinctly Jean Luc and I can never seem to place it. Is it truly English? Is it French? Is it Scottish? It's a wonderful amalgam and every word he says sounds like poetry. For a moment I let myself think about how that voice will sound when he's whispering to our children as he says goodnight.

"Beverly?" I'm snapped from my reverie as his arm slides around my waist. I smile, welcoming myself into his arms.

"Where are you?"

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"Your voice. How it will sound when you're reading Goodnight Moon to our children before you tuck them in."

"Goodnight Moon?"

"An old Earth children's book."

He smiles, "I can't wait." Our eyes lock and we mold into each other, our lips fitting together in a glorious kiss. Unlike the first time I kissed him, I'm nearly healed now. Now I am able to stand next to him and to hold him properly against me. I'm able to feel every inch of his body as he cradles me into him. I start to deepen the embrace, but he pulls away and I let out a small moan at the loss of contact.

"I have something for you." He takes my hand in his and leads me to the sofa. "Wait," he tells me. I see him disappear into the darkness of his bedroom before coming back out with something cradled in his palm.

I'm curious and I don't like surprises, "what is it, Jean Luc?"

He kneels on one knee in front of me and opens what I now discern to be the familiar shape of a box. In that moment my breath catches in my chest. I've never seen anything so exquisite before. It's a ring. The band is made of a beautiful yellow gold and cradled on top is a large diamond flanked by two medium and similarly cut diamonds. On the periphery of the all the stones lie tiny delicately cut emeralds. In the dimmed light of the quarters, the whole ensemble sparkles and reflects prisms that dance along the bulkheads.

Words don't seem to come to me as I marvel at it's splendor, "I..I..it's…"

He's entertained by my speechlessness as he removes the ring from the soft box, "I..uh.. this is going to sound a little foolish…" he trails off and looks down, almost embarrassed.

I tilt his head up to mine, "what is it, Jean?"

There's that crooked smile, "I bought this ring a long time ago."

"Oh?" I raise my eyebrow suggestively, "another woman?"

"No. I bought it after I received my first commission. It's horribly sentimental and sort of pathetic, but I bought it for you."

"For me? But I was with Jack." I'm terribly confused.

"Yes, but you weren't engaged to Jack at the time that I bought it."

"What are you saying, Jean Luc?" He raises himself from his knees to sit close to me on the couch.

"I always _hoped_ that maybe you and Jack would have broken up and then we could have had a chance. I can't even believe that I thought that or that I'm even admitting this! It sounds so scheming looking back on it…"

I'm taken aback. I knew that Jean Luc had been in love with me. He's told me that. But, I had no idea he was that serious back then. We hadn't even been on a date or even kissed at that stage and he'd already bought a ring!

"Well... I thought that the green emeralds would offset your hair… Uh but then you and Jack got engaged and I didn't want to come in the way of that. So, I put this in the back of my drawer and tried to forget about it."

Every time I learn more about Jean Luc's love for me, I can't help but tear up. This wonderful man has loved me with such ferocity since we were young and although we've changed as individuals, his love for me has remained constant. It's so incredibly romantic.

"Well," I goad him and hold out my left hand, "put it on then!"

A broad smile spreads across his face, "it has an inscription on the inside." He says as the ring slides on with a perfect ease.

"What does it say?" I whisper, marveling at how perfect the piece of jewelry looks on my finger. In that moment I am struck and humbled by the symbolism that this ring carries with it. It's an outward expression of something special between two souls.

"It says: _Beverly, Mine to Love._"

"Yes," is the only word that comes to me in that moment. Yes to him. Yes to a life with him. Yes to loving him. Suddenly, dinner becomes a forgotten entity and my fatigue ebbs away. The love that I have for him is overwhelming. The need to touch him and _show _him how much I have wanted him is overpowering. In that instant I tear my gaze away from my hand and I climb on to his lap. I said I didn't want heated and frantic, but all of a sudden I can't help it. Greedily I bring my mouth to his and the force with which I kiss him is enough to leave a bruise. I want him.

I feel him quickly respond to my touch and to the moment. I bring my body closer to his, perching myself over his growing arousal. I feel his hands, large and warm, move up from my thighs to my breast. I haven't been touched in a long time and I feel myself respond to him instantaneously.

He pulls away slightly enough to whisper, "not here". He pushes me up off his lap and stands with me. I can't help but be drawn back to him; every single second with my mouth not on his seems like a terrible waste. I've never actually done it before, but trying to walk, kiss, and shed clothing is quite an undertaking. It's messy and frustrating; we keep bumping into the bulkhead between the living room and his quarters.

I start to laugh and in doing so I break our kiss, "one thing at a time," I whisper breathlessly. I've already successfully undone his pants and his uniform jacket was the first casualty. I quickly tear off his undershirt when I stop. He's magnificent. I shouldn't be surprised. I've seen Jean Luc without his clothes on. But, that was always within the context of him being the patient and me being the doctor. Then, I hadn't been looking at him as a lover. But now, I really look at him. I admire the well defined muscles on his chest. I follow the contour of his body down to examine his torso, intrigued by the sharp lines and visible ridges in his rectus abdominis. I can tell he's impatient; I see the growing evidence of his arousal as my gaze follows the V of his hips. But I can't help but stare and admire. I make quick work of his trousers, letting them fall in a pool on the floor. He's looking at me. His gaze hasn't left me since I we got here.

I notice the small things. I notice how he's trembling. I notice his increased respiration rate. He walks towards me, now clad only his Starfleet issue boxers. His pupils are dilated, making his eyes almost completely black. He raises his hands and brushes them tentatively over my arms.

"Is this real?" he utters reverently.

"Yes," I whisper.

That one word is all the encouragement he needs. Before I see him do it, I feel his hands at the hem of my shirt and in an instant it's been pulled away. His touch is reverent as his hands skitter over my bra. I took care this evening to wear the black lace one that he handed me in the bathroom. He smiles in recognition, leaving no detail unnoticed. He's smiling, but only for a second before a higher sense of urgency takes over. The bra falls away, joining his trousers. And soon, my other clothes follow. I complete the act by removing his boxers and in a moment there is nothing between us.

We're standing at a slight distance and all I can do is stare at him. Everything about him is impressive. I can make out the bulging muscles on his thigh, but those aren't what I'm focusing on. Yes, I sigh happily and smile, Jean Luc is a very impressive man. I unconsciously lick my lips and in doing so I snap the last bit of his self control.

In one fluid movement I'm in his arms again and he's pushing me towards his bed. I know insentiently that I'm going to be taken for a wild ride. His body covers me and his arousal feels almost painful as it's pressed against my thigh. Any other man would have immediately gone for the gold. But Jean Luc wants to wait. He's trained himself to be controlled and his restraint in all other areas in his life is just as evident here in the bedroom. He wants me, but he wants this to be for me as well. That in itself is incredibly erotic. His hands are everywhere; he's memorizing every single centimeter of my skin with his fingertips.

His touch is soft and delicate as he moves over my breasts. His mouth follows and he moves to kiss down my chest and just then I feel his hands move further and further. I don't need any more preparation. I want to give him what he needs but I also need to receive what I need – which is him inside of me.

"Jean Luc!" I cry out. I try to tell him that I just want _him_ and that I don't need anything more, but he's too fast and in a second I feel his mouth on me. I cry out and my back arches involuntarily. I've never felt anything like this before. His mouth is soft, but demanding as he drives me closer and closer to a state of nirvana. I keep trying to tell him to stop that I don't want to come without him, but I'm too late as my world fades to white and heat spreads throughout every cell in my body. I'm not even in control of my own senses as my frame sags against the mattress and all I can do is shake through the after currents. I feel my heart beat painfully in my chest. I sense his lips kissing up my thigh, over the soft skin of my stomach and back up to me, "Now!" I want him. I want to feel him. I want his body to be part of my own.

He doesn't need any more encouragement as he positions himself at my entrance. Every nerve in my body is hyper vigilant and every touch is erogenous. But when I feel him hovering before me, I shout out again and buck against him. The sensation reaches an otherworldly level as I feel him push through, thoroughly stretching long dormant tissues past their tested limit. I gasp and he stops for a moment, frightened that he's hurt me in some way. I quickly do away with his notion with a simple command, "move". It's all the impetus he needs as he drives into me again and again. I'm not usually this vocal, but tonight I can't help but whimper and groan. His breathing is erratic against my neck. The feeling of him being a part of me is something deeply transcendent. I catch a quick glimpse of the ring on my finger and I am reminded that this is not just the joining of two bodies, but it is the complete realization of something metaphysical and fated.

Our mutual climax takes us both by surprise. I feel myself contracting all around him. The muscles in my legs and torso mirror the undulations of those that surround that part of him. I feel a rush of heat as he deposits part of himself inside of me. I cry out, but the walls do not hear this cry as it is swallowed in his kiss.

His breathing and heart rate begin to normalize and I feel him soften and pull away. I am loathe to lose him, however, so I hold his body on top of my own until the urge to fully fill my lungs becomes unbearably strong. He senses my need and pulls away, but in doing so he keeps me against him and cradles me close.

It strikes me that this is going to be our life. The wetness evident between my thighs reminds me that he is now fully mine and that I am fully his. As I lay here, I can't help but be excited.

"I love you," I whisper as I kiss his chest.

Tomorrow we'll tell our staff that we're leaving. Tomorrow we will reach Earth and resign our commissions. Tomorrow brings it's own troubles and conflicts, but for tonight I am satisfied to bask in the sensation of being loved, desired, and fully satisfied.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I reference my other work, A New Life, in this chapter. It's Janeway/Chakotay so if you like ST VOY go on over and check that one out! If you like it, I'd love you hear from you :)**

It always surprises me how sterile and cold Starfleet Headquarters is. I never could tell how they could have chosen such a beautiful, kindly, and airy city like San Francisco and stuck right in the middle of it a building so devoid of light and warmth.

This morning we told our senior staff that we were resigning. Most of them had the same reaction as Deanna. Will was furious when he first heard the words, but then, like Deanna, he was happy for us. Data merely gave us his congratulations and wished us well. He's still such a neophyte in terms of his emotions. He wants us to be happy in as much as he can grasp the concept.

Worf – what can I say about Worf? He was Worf! He grumbled a bit but then offered his congratulations as well. I think that Worf understands in his own way. On our first years out, we met a woman named K'Ehleyr. She was an emissary who we later found out had been romantically involved with Worf. However, she wasn't just involved with him, they had almost gotten married and she bore him Alexander.

She was a magnificent woman not only physically, but mentally as well. For a Klingon, she was incredibly graceful. I'm a tall woman myself, but K'Ehleyr towered over me and whenever she walked into a room she demanded a presence. She had a very quick wit about her that made me smile. When she died, Worf was crushed. I don't think I've ever seen such a big man so moved. He was well and truly broken over her. I think that knowing what he knows now; if Worf had the chance to be with her he would give all of this up as well.

The click of our heels on the cold marble floors of Head quarters brings me back to the present. Both of us had already sent in our resignations over the computer, but it's customary to come to headquarters for a formal meeting.

Our presence has been requested by Admirals Hayes, Nechayev, and Paris. Hayes and Paris are both cordial. Owen Paris' son Tom is part of the Voyager crew. I had heard rumours that there had been some bad blood between father and son prior to Voyager's being stranded in the Delta Quadrant. I think that right now Owen has a lot of regrets, but somehow those regrets have softened him. But recently he's seemed grateful and appreciative because he's seen, as in the case of his son, when precious things are lost you may never see them again.

Hayes has always been benign. I've met him a few times at various Admirals balls. He's always quite cordial with everyone. I remember one time he tried to engage my in a conversation about my work. He obviously had no idea what I did because he went off on a discussion about quasar mechanics. I didn't have the heart to tell him I wasn't an astrophysicist so I just went along. A few moments into our conversation, the man must have thought I was quite literally dull because I was at that point making things up and it was obvious that I had no idea what I was talking about. I remember though, that Jean Luc rescued me and instead of using my name he called me "Doctor". Hayes just cocked his head, nodded and walked away. I think he was a little embarrassed and truthfully so was I.

As we get closer and closer to Nechayev's presence (and she definitely has one), I find myself feeling like a schoolgirl who's on her way to the principle's office. The feeling before having to deal with Alynna Nechayev can only be likened to the feeling of walking into a lion's den. The woman is absolutely something else! She was top of her class in everything at the academy and she's never let anyone forget it. She was the youngest woman ever appointed to the admiralty and she uses her feminine wiles and powers of manipulation to get her way. No one ever says anything against because they're too afraid. And to tell you the truth, so am I.

We approach the door and instinctively I grab Jean Luc's hand. Before we go in, he turns, gives my hand a light squeeze and kisses my cheek. My, my, my, this is a new side of Jean Luc Picard! Not only is he resigning after almost 30 years of being in Starfleet, but also he just kissed me in public!

As soon as the hydraulic doors swoosh open, the Brass is on their feet. I don't think I've ever seen more contrary dispositions in my life! Nechayev's neat coiffure is tousled and aberrant strands are sticking out every which way. Her makeup is less than pristine and dark circles are evident in the absence of concealer.

Hayes looks like he just went a few rounds with a Terkalian beast. Owen, though, looks serene. He's just glad that his son is OK. I think that of all of the admirals, he's going to offer the least resistance to our resignations.

Alynna is the first to cry, "How dare you? Both of you! You should be ashamed!"

"She's right! This is outrageous! Jean Luc, Beverly – you're two of the 'Fleet's finest officers! Beverly, we were even willing to give you command of a science vessel in a few years time and now this! It's an outrage!" Hayes face just keeps getting redder and redder.

"Alynna, John – please calm down," Owen begins, "sit down and let's hear Jean Luc and Beverly's reason for their resignation."

"Thank you, Admiral," Jean Luc nods at Owen.

The five of us sit down at this monstrously imposing table. I wonder why they chose this room….

Nechayev pipes up again, "So tell us, Jean Luc. Are you unhappy with Starfleet? Was it not enough that we gave you command of the flagship vessel? Are you not satisfied with the best crew that we had to offer? Do you want more pay? More shore leave? What could possibly be missing in your career?"

Jean Luc shifts uncomfortably in his seat. In truth, we were expecting this but the reality of it is off-putting, "No, Admiral. I – Beverly and I- we are very happy with our positions, but we, uh, we want to get married and start a fami-"

"And you can't do that now?"

I'm getting frustrated with this woman so I decide to speak up, "forgive me, Admiral, but Jean Luc and I don't want to raise a family within the confines of Starfleet and –"

"Well then you should have thought of that in the first place!" Hayes interjects. If that man's face was any redder I would have mistaken it for a ripe, prize-winning tomato.

Jean Luc and I look at each other, completely taken aback by their reaction. He grabs my hand under the table and gives it a quick, reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry, Admirals, but this is a deeply personal decision and one that Beverly and I have thought through thoroughly. We won't be bullied by any of you into changing our minds. We want a family – children! - and we want to explore life outside of Starfleet. This is all we've known since we were 17 years old! We've given your our service and we've been upstanding officers. There is no reason for this treatment!"

"You're right," Owen Paris looked up from his lap, "Alynna, Jack – Jean Luc and Beverly are right. They've given their service and they are free to choose what they want to do with their lives. They are free to retire and start a family. Jean Luc, Beverly, I am very happy for you. Family is a gift." In this moment, I gain a huge amount of respect for Owen Paris. My heart goes out to him and his wife for all that they have lost.

"Owen," I begin softly, "have you heard from Tom?"

He looks up and smiles, "yes! Do you know what? He's married with a baby on the way!"

"Oh, Owen!" I exclaim, "that's wonderful. Congratulations."

Jean Luc smiles as well, "congratulations, Owen! That's wonderful news."

"Thank you, Beverly, Jean Luc." He looks back to his colleagues, "let them go. They just want to live their lives in peace."

I can tell Hayes and Nechayev are defeated. What are they going to do at this stage?

Nechayev clears her throat and smoothes her spindly hands over her disgruntled coiffure, "Very well. Beverly, Jean Luc – your resignation has been accepted and all pay will be granted. You'll be resigning with your ranks of Captain and Commander intact." She clears her throat, "I wish you every," she looks like she's going to vomit, "_happiness". _

Hayes just nods his head, face still red as a strawberry. Owen, though, comes over and shakes our hands. He's a wonderful man and I'm grateful for his presence here with us. Without him, this meeting would have been a lot worse. He signals us towards the door. Once we're out in the foyer, Nechayev and Hayes limply shake our hands and return to their work.

Owen, though, stays behind, "Beverly, Jean Luc. I truly am happy for you. This is wonderful news and I hope you'll keep in touch. I've always had the greatest respect for the both of you and I wish you ever single happiness in your new life together."

"Thank you again, Owen." Jean Luc bows his head and leans into the older man, "what's the latest on Voyager?"

His face lights up, "well nothing's changed much. We were able to set up a call and I was able to see Tom and his new wife, B'Elanna. They look very happy."

"B'Elanna, that sounds like a Klingon name?" I'm surprised. It's not unheard of, but it's rare that humans and true Klingons intermarry.

"B'Elanna is half Klingon. She's their chief engineer – she even used to be Maquis!"

"Well it seems as though the Maquis have integrated well with the Starfleet crew!" Jean Luc is impressed.

"Yes. And no doubt you've heard about Kathryn and her first officer?"

I smile, "yes, what wonderful news - and a baby on the way!"

Owen looks absolutely tickled, "Yes. It is wonderful. I knew Chakotay when he was here at the academy and he is a good man. He might have lost his way for a while, but he and Kathryn are extremely happy together. In fact," he pulls a small padd out of his pocket, "in the last data stream we were able to exchange files of information – it was mostly duty logs, ships records, updates on the new technological additions to the ship, profiles on the new species that they've encountered… but what we also received were photographs! Apparently, their EMH is quite the photographer!" Owen excitedly activates the padd. Jean Luc and I gather in closer.

"This," he points out, "is Tom and B'Elanna's wedding photograph." What a lovely couple. B'Elanna is short and petite with only slight Klingon ridges on her forehead. They both look so happy. Tom is tall. He towers over his wife. He's got that All-American jock look to him. They make a lovely couple.

"They look beautiful, Owen." Jean Luc says softly.

Owen's eyes look like they are starting to tear, "Yes, and," he swipes the screen and brings up another photo, "here's Kathryn and Chakotay's." My, oh my, Chakotay's Starfleet personnel file didn't do him any justice whatsoever! The man is quite tall and imposing. He's a big man – very muscular, but his face is kind and soft. In the photo he's looking at Kathryn with the same look that Jean Luc gives me. His hands are around Kathryn's waist. She's so tiny that his hands almost engulf her fully. She looks happy – blissful. Her dress suits her perfectly and I can't help but tear up. They couple is flanked by Tom, B'Elanna, and a tall Vulcan named assumedly Tuvok, a trusted advisor of Kathryn's who went undercover in the Maquis for a while.

"Well," Owen deactivates the padd, "I should be going. But I mean it, keep me informed and stay in touch."

"Certainly," Jean Luc responds as he holds out his hand, " and please keep us informed on the Voyager situation. Give Tom, B'Elanna, Kathryn, and Chakotay our best when you speak with them in the next data stream."

They shake hands and we say our final goodbyes. In an instant, we're free. I look over at my fiancé and grab his hand, "we're free," I whisper to him. And then, like two giddy teenagers we scurry out of Starfleet, receiving questioning glances from passing Commanders and Admirals.

The warm San Francisco air warms us, reminding us that it's summer. Jean Luc turns to me, "so?" That's his new favourite question lately.

"So." I throw it back at him. What is he getting at?

"So, Beverly, let's get married."


	17. Chapter 17

"Soon, Jean Luc! You really are an impatient man!" I laugh as I link my arm with his and begin walking away from headquarters.

"Alright – you've caught me. But really Beverly," he stops and looks right at me, "I really do want to get married as soon as possible."

"You're not the only one!" And he's not. If I had spotted a Justice of the Peace walking down the street, I would have grabbed him and made him marry us right here in the open San Francisco air. But the truth of the matter is that we need to settle a few things first. We need to get established and let the gravity of what we've just done sink in. Both of us need to look for jobs and we need to find a house. I suddenly have a very fitting idea, "let's go tell Wesley."

Wesley is now in his final year at the Academy. He had a rough go of it a little over a year ago when he was implicated in some trouble with his flight group. I was proud of him with handled the situation in the end. It was hard, though, he was called up for review and Jean Luc and I had to be present. It was gut wrenching for me to see him in that situation. I'm his mother and I always want to be there to protect him. But that instance made me see Wes as a man and not a little boy. It truly made me realize that he was growing up. I'm proud of him; he is truly exceptional.

Since both of us have absolutely no clue where he would be at, we comm. him and find him at the Armstrong, one of the Academy's many student hang-out spots.

"Mom! Captain!" I crane my neck but then I see him.

"Wes!" It's been a year since we've seen each other. Every time I see him after a good stretch of time, I'm able to see clearly how much he's changed. Yes, Wes is looking more and more like his father – but I still think that I can see a little bit of me. His eyes are definitely mine. He's almost done growing now – men usually stop growing at 18. Now, he's a little taller than myself- much closer to Jean Luc's height. He's typically thin and he's let his hair grow out a little bit. My son is a very handsome young man.

He grabs me and hugs me to him. "It's good to see you, Mom," he kisses my cheek.

"It's good to see you too, Wes."

He turns to Jean Luc, "Captain," he nods his head in respect and shakes his hand.

Wes and Jean Luc have had an… interesting relationship. Wes can remember when he was just a little boy. He always admired Jean Luc. He couldn't say his whole name back then and it usually came out sounding like "jah –loo". It was very sweet and very cute.

When he was very little and I told him that Jean Luc was coming to visit he'd run around the house excitedly shouting "Jah loo! Jah loo!" and waiting for him and Jack to come through the door.

Jean Luc always says that he's uncomfortable around children, but he loved that Wes looked up to and admired him so much. He was such a huge part of our lives until Jack died. Once that happened, Jean Luc stopped coming to our home anymore. He stopped coming to see Wesley and he essentially disappeared. Wes was as crushed as a little boy of 5 years old could be. Not only had he lost his dad, but he'd lost one of his idols.

When we came to live on the Enterprise, Jean Luc was initially quite hostile towards Wes – but now I understand why. Soon thereafter I think he realized what a wonderful boy Wes had become and they were able to rekindle their relationship somewhat. Over Wes' years on the Enterprise, the two of them became quite close. He started to look upon Jean Luc more and more as a father figure. Everything that Wes does, he does in the context of making Jean Luc proud. It's very compelling for a mother to watch and I'm happy that they have such a good relationship. I hope that Wes will be happy when he hears the news.

Jean Luc surprises me for the third time today when he lets go of Wesley's hand and folds him into a hug, "it's not Captain anymore, Wes," he says with a smile.

Wesley's face drops in astonishment, "w-what?"

I intervene before Wes falls flat on his face, "let's go sit down," I say with an amused smile as I lead him over to an empty table.

"Wait, so…" Wesley stammers, "What's going on?"

"Well," I begin, as I look over at Jean Luc, "would you care to do the honours?"

"Wes, we've both resigned our commissions just now."

"What?! Why?" Wes looks like he's about to pass out. So, I decide to put him out of his misery as I hold up my left hand.

"What is THAT?!" He points at the grandiose ring. His eyes are bigger than saucers and I can't help but be entertained. Suddenly realization dawns on him, "NO WAY!" He's too loud and people start to stare. He waves, diverting the attention and then looks back to us, "No way! No way! Are you serious?" a broad smile comes over his features. "All I can say is _finally." _

Jean Luc and I look over at one another and start laughing, "What?" I say.

"Mom, come on. I feel like this has been a long time coming. Sometimes I felt like the tension between you two was hot enough to cause a warp core breach. I'm just glad you finally came to your senses. Congratulations." Wesley reaches across the table to shake Jean Luc's hand.

"Thank you, Wes," Jean Luc begins warmly, "it means a lot that you're so supportive." Wesley just can't wipe that satisfied grin off of his face!

"So, what's this about you two no longer being in Starfleet? I bet that didn't make any of the Admiral break into song and dance…"

"It didn't actually. Nechayev looked like her head was about to spin on its axis and the colour of Hayes face matched his collar," I reply.

Wesley's laughing, "I can believe it."

"No, the truth is that we want to start a family." I state plainly.

"That's great! Remember, Mom, how I was always hounding you for a brother or a sister?"

"I remember – almost every day when you were little." It was almost as bad as the puppy phase.

"So, what's on the docket for you two?"

"Well…" I begin.

"We need to find a house," Jean Luc begins.

"And new jobs," I continue.

"And obviously get married." Wesley finished. "So, when are you getting married?"

Before looking at Jean Luc, "as soon as possible."

"What's going to happen to the Enterprise?"

"I've recommended that it be given to Will." Jean Luc begins, "but we'll see what happens."

"I hope he gets it. He'll make a good captain."

"Have you two decided what you're going to do for work?"

"Well it depends on where we're going to live, at this point." I answer.

Wes looks at the clock on the wall behind him, "Mom, Captain, I have to go to class. But, I'll see you later. Congratulations, really. I'm very happy."

He leaves and we're alone again. I turn to Jean Luc with a devious plan. "You know," I lean in and lower my voice, "I have an apartment not far from here…"

"Beverly," his voice catches, "I think these young cadets' hormones are rubbing off on you..." He's trying to be mock serious, but he's all play.

I nod my head and chuckle, "oh no – that's the Howard hormones."

And in a second we're out of our seats and all but running to the apartment.


	18. Chapter 18

Having nothing to do and nowhere to be is truly an enticing reality. I don't think I've ever spent this long in bed with another person – not even on my honeymoon. And trust me when I say that we have not been sleeping.

I can't seem to get enough of Jean Luc and luckily he feels the same way about me. I love the way that his hands and his mouth worship my body. I love that he finds me enticing, sexy, and exciting. I love that even though he sees my flaws, he loves them and sees them as beauties rather than scars.

There's no one making demands on our time. There are no calls from the bridge. Our quarters aren't being shaken at 0300 due to heavy weapons fire from hostile enemies. It's as close to bliss as I've come in a while.

"Jean Luc!" I exclaim. He's absolutely got to stop doing whatever magic it is that he's doing with his hands or I swear that I'll never make it out of bed – ever.

"Shhhh!" He whispers before his mouth descends. He's made me laugh and now he's kissing me. It's such a strange sensation. His body completely covers mine and I can tell what's coming next. Unh uh, not this time. He's not getting the upper hand! I push him off of me, landing him flat on his back as I quickly climb on top of him. I balance myself over his arousal and assert my dominance. He cries out as he comes in contact with the center of my heat. It's got to be the fiftieth time we've done this, but I love looking at him while he's caught in the throes of passion. The lines on his face relax and he is completely caught up in rapture.

We move together in counterpoint rushing towards our climax. Out of nowhere an orgasm rips through me. I let go of his hands and throw my head back, yelling his name. He keeps moving towards his own release and another orgasm rocks my body. I'm shaking as I fall into him. He catches my shoulders and eases me down onto his chest, "if we…keep…this up…" I can barely breath, "… you're going to get me knocked up…and…" I take a gulp of air, "then some".

He chuckles and kisses my shoulder, "I fully intend to."

It's customary that all personnel on a starship are given fertility suppressants. Only in special cases, as with married couples, are those suppressants allowed to be reversed. However, now that we're no longer on the Enterprise, I suppressed the boosters. I want to get pregnant as soon as possible. Jean Luc and are by no means young at this stage and we want to get started on this family. I had Wes in my early 20s. Now he's nearly 23 years old. By the time our children are 24, Jean Luc and I will be in our late 60s/early 70s. It's not too much of a problem, really. Modern medicine is now able to extend the human lifespan well into the 100s. But truly, we're just impatient.

"Jean Luc?"

He looks at me, still breathing heavily, "yes?"

"I'm hungry."

He laughs, "Some things never change". And with that we're out of bed and heading towards the small kitchen.

"What do you want?" he looks up from the replicator.

"Anything. Surprise me." I say over my shoulder as I walk over to the console in my living room. Activating it, I log on and quickly contact an old friend from the academy. I remember her clearly. Her name is Hope Durnsley. She and I studied for a few exobiology tests together. She was truly a lovely girl. While my other classmates were cut throat in getting to the top, Hope was always helpful to her fellow peers but she never let herself get taken advantage of. I know for a fact that she was not top in the class, but she was very happy and well balanced. When I met her a few years back at our class reunion I learned that she had left Starfleet and was working as a general practitioner in Seattle. She gave me her contact information and I always kept it. When Jean Luc and I resigned, I immediately thought of her. I remember her saying: "we always need good people if you're ever thinking about a change". Maybe I would get lucky and she would need an associate or a partner or at least she'd know of someone who would.

I feel a kiss on my neck, "what are you up to?" A bowl of my favourite vegetable soup makes its way in front of me.

I smile, "Jean Luc! My favourite!"

"So, what are you up to?"

"Well," I take a bite, "I just contacted an old classmate from the academy. I want to see if she needs an associate." Even though it's replicated, the soup is still quite good. And Jean Luc didn't skimp on the butter and the rolls – my favourite accompaniment to Nana's soup.

"She's not longer in Starfleet either?" He manages after taking a bite.

"No. She left a long time ago."

"How come?"

"I don't think she was happy. She was bright and driven, but I don't think she liked the rigidity of Starfleet. She was a bit of a free spirit."

"Mmmhhh," he nods in acknowledgement as he takes another bite of soup.

I'm not worried about Jean Luc finding a position. He's not only famous within the walls of Starfleet, you know. He looks up from his food, "I've already gotten 4 offers from various universities for emeritus positions." He smiles in satisfaction.

"Jean Luc! Why didn't you tell me?!" This is indeed wonderful news.

He smiles like a kid caught in the candy jar, "I forgot. Really, Beverly, in all of the hullaballoo of telling the staff and then resigning there was no time to tell you. I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Jean Luc, I'm so happy. Where did you get the offers from?"

"Well the morning after I proposed to you, I went back to my quarters and I contacted Professor Galen's old associate to see if he could send out a few feelers for me with his colleagues in the field. And then, when I checked the console that afternoon, he had provided me with several contacts. So, during a quiet stretch on the bridge I retired to my ready room and sent out letters of interest to the contacts. What I got back was a resounding response. I've gotten offers now from Berkley, USC, the University of Washington, and even Harvard in Massachusetts."

"I can't believe it! Well, I can – but that's wonderful. So where are you going to go?"

"Well, let's wait and hear back from your classmate and see where you might be and then we'll make the final decision and start looking for a house. But, in the mean time…" he wags his eyebrow suggestively and suddenly my soup holds no more interest. This man is truly insatiable.


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks to you very kind people who have been reviewing. I really appreciate you guys. Love hearing from you and I appreciate all your kind words! Bless! **

"Jean Luc?" I enter the small apartment and I know he's home; I can smell dinner.

"Beverly?" I love seeing Jean Luc wearing casual clothing. He's wearing a pair of loose jeans and a green T-shirt. He looks relaxed and happy and I'm hoping that it's a result of his meeting at UW.

Today was the longest we've been away from one another in a couple of days and I have to admit that I missed him like a lovesick teenager. "Jean Luc," I smile as he moves towards me. He wastes no time as he folds me into his arms and kisses me soundly. His tongue runs over my lower lips and opens me to him. I've missed his taste. It's so distinctively Jean Luc and I don't think that I'll ever have enough of it. I pull away as I feel his growing arousal pressed against me. Even though I want to indulge my own need to be close to him and make love to him, I need to hear about his day.

I purposefully didn't let myself get too attached to Yakima. Believe me, it took a lot of restraint. Hope and I moved easily back into a collegial friendship. She's someone that I can see myself working with. I loved working with Alyssa, Selar, and Eric Hill on the Enterprise, but there always seemed to be a sort of disjointedness to our camaraderie. We all had conflicting duty schedules and hardly any of us spoke outside of work. Alyssa and I had an inkling of a friendship, but I always felt that she looked to me more as a mother figure than as a friend. With Hope, however, we have common ground outside of the fact that we're both doctors. We both have sons, a common interest in regenerative medicine, and we graduated from the same class and share common memories as such. I think that working alongside her would be a team effort and something rather fun, enjoyable, and professionally fulfilling.

"Jean Luc, as much as I _need_ to make love to you, I absolutely have to hear about how your meeting went today."

He smiles, opening himself to me, and chuckles, "Beverly, I turned down all the other offers before you came home."

Elation fills me and I feel the urge to shout my joy from the rooftops, "You did!"

"Yes. It's a perfect opportunity and I accepted the position. I hope that I wasn't too presumptuous and that your meeting went well too," he looks almost nervous. "I know that I should have talked to you, but the situation felt right and I acted a little impulsively."

For a moment I can't speak and I'm overwhelmed. Tears of happiness start to build behind my eyes and I start to shake my head. "Oh Beverly! I'm sorry. I can call them bac-"

"No! Jean Luc, I'm crying because I'm happy!"

He breathes a sign of relief and releases the tension that had built in his body. "So, uh," it's terribly adorable that he's almost afraid to say the words, "are we moving to Yakima, Washington?"

I can't stop my tears and I start to nod my head. Jean Luc let's out the loudest whoop I've ever heard as he swings me into his arms and twirls me around. I can't stop laughing and crying. I never thought that I could experience so much happiness and I hold on to the man I love even tighter, almost afraid that I'll wake up and it'll just be a dream.

I feel his grip on me loosen and I slide down his body. I'm much to excited to eat and there is really only one thing that I want.

"Jean Luc," I whisper, still cradled in his arms.

"Beverly?"

"Is this real?"

"God, I hope so," he breathes. "I still can't believe that you're here and that you're mine."

"Jean Luc?"

"Yes, Beverly?"

"Will you marry me?"

"Oh Beverly," I hear him utter softly. I love the way that he looks at me. It's like he's beholding something wonderful and sacred. He looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time, "a thousand times yes."

Our eyes lock and he brings me closer to him. Our lips meet and our tongues lazily battle for dominance as he leads me towards the bedroom. We've learned from the first time that we made love not to try and shed our clothing while moving to the bedroom. No, this time will be slow. This time it will be passionate. This time orgasm will not be our first goal. Now, in this moment, we want to show one another our love. Now we'll touch and explore, give and receive.

/

"What do you think?" He's wearing only his boxers as we sit in the candlelight. The dim light of the small flame bounces off his muscular form and highlights the soft lines of his face.

"What do I think about what?" I ask, still basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

He swallows a bite of our now cold dinner, "food tastes better after making love."

"Oh about that? Yes. Definitely. However, we're going to have to start eating more if we're going to keep this up," I laugh as I kiss a bit of spaghetti sauce off the corner of his lip.

"So," I begin, "in all of our excitement you didn't tell me any of the details of your meeting."

"Ditto. But, uh," he sits up in his chair and puts his plate down on the table, "the current professor is retiring and they've already prepared his old office for me. It's a lovely office: very bright and airy, and plenty of shelf space on which I can display my nick knacks-"

"You've got plenty of those" I playfully interject.

"Hey!" He interjects – I'm not the only one, Miss Packrat 2375."

"Hey! I am not a packrat. I'll have you know that everything that I save has a purpose!"

He smiles at the ridiculousness of my statement, "and what purpose, pray tell, does a box full of empty hypospray phials serve?"

"I'll have you know that those have a very unique design!" He's right. I'm sort of a packrat.

"I'm sure," he cocks his eyebrow is typical Jean Luc fashion.

"Getting back to your meeting…"

"Oh, yes, well – you know Beverly it's hard to focus on anything when all you're wearing is my shirt…"

I leer coyly, reveling in the effect that I have on this unshakable man, "Jean Luc, whatever happened to your famous self control?"

"It went out the window when I got engaged to you."

"Do you want me to put on something more modest?"

"Don't you dare! As I was saying: they have an office all ready for me and they're going to start me out teaching 3 classes in the fall: one for freshman on basic archaeological principles, and then two for upper level archaeology majors. For those two they are letting me design my own curriculum. They're even giving me tenure – which is a quite a leap of faith on their part. "

"Jean Luc, that is wonderful news – and tenure!"

"Yes, I thought so," he looks very satisfied with himself! "Now, your turn."

"Jean Luc you are going to love Yakima. It's a lot like I imagine LaBarre to be like in that it's almost free of the technological constraints of the 24th century. It looks more like one of your Dixon Hill programs than it does downtown San Francisco."

"I can't wait to see it. How was your meeting with Hope? I assume you're happy with what you saw."

"It was perfect. We just picked up where we left off from the old Academy days. It's going to be quite a change for me, though. I'll no longer be treating many patients that aren't human, nor will I be doing much surgery unless I choose to put myself on rotation at the nearby hospital – something I am seriously considering doing. Other than that, though, my schedule will be a little more set. We'll have weekends together, which is a bonus. And I loved the practice. It's absolutely beautiful. I can't wait for you to see it," I'm getting giddy just talking about it!

"I can't wait either, Beverly. For the first time, things in our lives are going to be somewhat normal. I still can't believe that we're not on the Enterprise dealing with hostile species-"

"Or species that take over our bodies!"

"Or holograms who take over the ship!"

"Or time rifts!"

"Or Q!"

"Oh thank Heavens we don't have to deal with Q!" I think for Jean Luc that is the greatest relief!

"Shh!" I express theatrically as I lower my voice, "we don't want him to hear us!"

He nods his head knowingly and smiles at me. "We did have a good run of it though, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. Do you have any regrets?" I'm almost nervous to hear his answer.

"I regret that we didn't get closer sooner. I regret all the lives that I lost under my command. I regret sometimes being too proud and too stubborn. But, no, overall I don't have many regrets. Do you?"

"No, Jean Luc. I don't. Because if we had done anything differently we wouldn't be here now and that is truly something that I would regret."

We sit in silence for a time, basking in the wonder of just being together until I break the silence, "let's get to bed. I think that tomorrow we should go house hunting. Hope told me about some properties and I saw a real estate office in downtown Yakima today that we should stop in to."

"Agreed. We have enough money to be able to afford a home and new furniture, and due to location I don't think we'll have trouble finding something reasonable."

I look at the table littered with dirty plates and empty wine glasses, "would you think me a terribly messy future wife if I left the dishes for morning?"

He steps into me and his arms encircle my waist. He leans in close and I can smell the faintly sweet smell of wine on his tongue mingled with the basil of the spaghetti sauce, "no," whispers as he moves in to feather kisses on my neck, "I'm beginning to like messy."


	20. Chapter 20

I've never been to Washington State. In fact, I've not been to a lot of places on Earth. I was born in Copernicus City, which is one of the largest cities on the lunar colonies. From there my parents and I moved to Arveda 3. They were a part of one of the first set of colonists. I don't remember much about that point in my life.

I think I was around 3 years old at the time. I remember bits and fragments of my time on Arveda. I remember when the armed conflicts started and I remember hearing the phaser fire and being very afraid.

My mother and father were both physicians. When the fighting broke out they were directly in the line of fire. My Nana has always told me how brave my parents were. She told me that during the conflicts they risked their own safety and wellbeing to treat the injured on both sides of the conflict. That bravery, though, cost them their lives. I asked Nana how it happened since I was too young to remember. She's always been reluctant to speak about it. She was, and still is, so devastated at the loss of my mother who she always said was the joy of her life – her greatest pride and noblest accomplishment.

I don't remember my mother much at all. I have a photograph of my parents' wedding day. She was very beautiful. I have her hair and my father's eyes. In some ways, I see bits of her in Wes.

Nana has always told me what a brilliant doctor she was. She could do almost any procedure without a second thought. She's always been the ideal that I've tried to live up to – she's the elusive goal that I'm always trying to attain. I wish that I could have met her and my father. Sometimes I imagine the conversations that we would have. Sometimes I talk to her about Wes, or my patients, and for a while there most of our pretend conversations revolved around Jean Luc. I hope that wherever she is, she's proud of me and the woman that I've become.

It's summer in San Francisco – which means it's hot almost all the time. But, now as I leave transporter station in downtown Yakima, I realize that I am severely underdressed; it's chilly! But my fixation with the Goosebumps forming on my arms is short lived as I admire the beauty around me. The topography is like nothing I've ever seen before and the clear blue cloud-speckled sky only seems to enhance its majesty.

The town of Yakima itself is rather simple. Unlike San Francisco, which is so littered with skyscrapers that you can't see the skyline from the ground, Yakima is relatively simple. It's untainted by the rampant industrialization of larger cities. The buildings are low to the ground – 5 stories at the maximum. There are small, quaint shops and the people on the street look happy. It's very different from what I'm used to. But, it's the air here that strikes me. It's clean and smog free. It smells almost like the air on Caldos, crisp and warm.

"Beverly?" I turn my head. Hope said she would meet me in town and then she'd take me to her practice.

"Hope!" I always thought that Hope had a graceful sort of beauty. She's a small woman, much shorter than myself. Her hair is long, hanging well past her shoulders and she's gathered it into a plait. She looks carefree in a pair of blue jeans and a light long sleeve top.

"Beverly, you look absolutely stunning! I can't believe it, but you seems to have gotten even prettier with age!"

"Hope! You are very, very kind," I fold her small form into a hug. "I was just to say the same thing about you."

"Thank you. Well, what do you think of Yakima?" She gestures towards the skyline.

"It's beautiful!"

She gestures ahead of her and we begin walking, "well, I'm glad you like it. It is beautiful here. But it's easy to take it for granted when you see it every day. You should see it in the evening when there's a sunset. It's magnificent."

We walk in a brief silence until she stops in front of a ground car. My face must have revealed an expression of shock and I hear Hope laugh, "yeah, we're a little ol' fashion around here. This," she points at her car, "is a refurbished, energy converted, 1996 Buick Roadmaster with original wood siding! My husband, knowing my fixation with 20th century Americana, constructed it for me for my 40th Birthday."

I start to chuckle, "it certainly is unique!"

"Well climb on in and I'll take you for a little drive!" The inside of the car is like something I've only seen on a holodeck. In the 24th century we still have ground cars, but most people op to use hovercars and shuttles for long distances. But here in Yakima, I haven't seen any hovercars and I haven't seen one shuttle in the sky. In fact, when I think about it, there were almost all exclusively ground cars.

The inside of the car doesn't look that unfamiliar. In fact, it looks like the hover car that I learned to drive in – without the modern navigational accoutrements, or the auto navigation control, or any of the touch panels. It is quite simply guileless. Hope starts the ignition and the car rumbles to life.

"So," she turns to me as she steers the vehicle out into the street, "I have to say that I was quite surprised when I got your message."

More and more of this quaint little town is revealed to me as we slowly meander through the streets. She continues, "last time we spoke you were head of Starfleet Medical! And then I learned from Gary Neuschotz that you were CMO of the Enterprise!"

"Yes – it's been quite a ride." I know what's coming, but I'll let Hope ask anyway.

"So, I just have to ask – I mean you're a pretty important woman – why Yakima? I mean, Bev you were near the top in our class and I remember that you had offers coming at you left and right!"

"I know. But, I need a change."

She suddenly sounds concerned, "did something happen? I don't want to pry. I mean you don't have to tell me if it's too personal."

"No. Nothing happened. I was very happy on the Enterprise. It was good work. I was able to do research, treat patients, travel, and experience new cultures etcetera. But, then a month ago I got in an accident-"

"Oh my goodness! Beverly, are you alright?" Hope's voice is pained and full of concern and compassion.

"Yes, I'm fine now."

"What happened?"

"Well I was on an away mission on a planet called Keflotz 7 that had recently gone through a conflict. When we got there, fighting had broken out again. We were rushed into a building and it was there I noticed the wounded and the dead had been lined up along the walls."

"Oh, Beverly, that's horrible."

"Hope," I begin, almost reliving the moment, "you have no idea. Anyhow, I was treating this young woman and that's the last thing I remember before waking up in Sickbay on the Enterprise."

"What injuries did you sustain?"

"Well apparently, a bomb had been launched at the building, knocking down the wall in front of me and burying me under the rubble."

"Oh my goodness, Beverly…"

"Well when I woke up I found out that I had suffered a humeral fracture, femoral fracture, scapular fracture and spinal shock at the level of L4/L5."

"Wow, Beverly that's quite intense!"

"It was. I couldn't walk for a good two weeks until the shock wore off. And _then_ I had to retrain myself to walk."

"And this was all recently?"

"Yes, within the last month and a half."

"And is that why you resigned?"

"No, actually. Uh well I don't know if you remember him – but did I ever introduce you to Jean Luc Picard when we were at the Academy?"

"Um YES. I remember Hottie McHotster! Didn't you two have a thing at one time? Wait, isn't he the Captain of the Enterprise?"

"No, remember I was with Jack. And yes." I'm smiling to myself, Hottie McHotster indeed.

"Oh that's right – I remember Crusher. He came in on one of our study sessions and waited for you until we were done."

"Yes, well Jack was Jean Luc's best friend and well it's a long story but the gist of it is that I married Jack even though I was covertly in love with Jean Luc. Then Jack died in an accident and Jean Luc and I lost contact for a while. Then I applied for the position of CMO on the Enterprise, after not having seen Jean Luc in about a decade. So, over my 6 or so years on the Enterprise, Jean Luc and I rekindled our friendship and then through this long and very convoluted series of events I found out that he was indeed in love with me. Then I got scared and turned him down. And then all of a sudden, after my injury, I came to my senses and now we're engaged."

Hope laughs, "well Beverly, let it be said that your life is anything but dull. That sounds like something out of a 20th century television series! So?"

"Oh right, so Jean Luc and I are engaged and we want to start a family. And before we do so, we want a change of pace and we want to set down some permanent roots."

"Well," Hope turns to car onto small side road. I still can't get over how beautiful it is here. It's so unfettered by modern technology and the frantic pace that I'm used to. "I think you will find that Yakima is certainly a place where you can set down some roots. But, it sounds like you and Jean Luc are used to living a bit of a wild, hectic life – are you sure that you're going to be happy in a place as quiet as Yakima?"

"That's exactly what we're going for."

"So, what is Jean Luc going to do now that he's not a Starfleet captain?"

"He's a bit of an expert in the field of archaeology. He made several very interesting discoveries while on our exploration and he wants to get published. And, he's always had somewhat of a secret passion for teaching. He's been offered professorships at a few universities including the University of Washington."

"Beverly, that's wonderful." She stops the car in front of a building. The front of it is quite quaint. Its construction is a mix of brick, glass, and stone. It's truly lovely. "This is where I work. It's not busy today because it's Sunday and on Sundays I usually only do emergencies. But, uh, the other 5 days a week, we are extremely busy. Since it's just me and my nurse Karla, I have work long 12 to 15 hour days. But, if you decide to come on board, we can both cut those hours down and take on more patients."

We start up the pathway. "I'll show you around the inside." She keys in the door code and we step in.

The inside is clean and airy. The windows bring in a lot of natural light and the view is absolutely breathtaking. The waiting area looks out on miles and miles of fields and you can see farmhouses in the distance. And then on the horizon, Hope points out, is Mount Rainier and Mount Adams. Jean Luc is going to love it here.

"Hope this is wonderful," I exclaim.

"Thanks. We have 4 patient treatment rooms and then one small procedure room where I do small elective and emergency procedures. We don't really do any major surgery. But, I have privileges at the hospital in the nearest city, which is 20 minutes from here by ground car. Sometimes I put myself on the surgical schedule in order to keep myself current and my skills up to par. Look into that if you plan on staying."

We walk through the procedure rooms one by one. They're all differently designed and I like that some are more suited for children and some more for adults. It's a good mix and I can see myself being happy here.

"We have one receptionist and, like I said, one nurse. It's enough some days, but at this point I'm overwhelmed. I have two young boys at home and it seems like I never get a chance to see them or my husband."

"Hope, this is truly impressive. Now, what's your patient flow on a daily basis?"

She looks almost sheepish about what she's going to say, "it can be as high as fifty."

"Fifty!" On the Enterprise I was seeing a maximum of 10 patients a day, and mostly for minor injuries and ailments. That number jumped, though, during a crisis situation.

"We service the rural areas of Yakima and the surrounding valleys and for most people, we're their first point of contact before going to a hospital or a specialist."

"Hope, that is incredible. How have you managed?"

"Barely. It's exhausting work, but it's very rewarding. In fact, it's funny, but I was going to put feelers out for an associate when I got your email. Is this something that you think that you'd like?"

"Yes. It truly is. It'll be a good change of pace – an faster one than what I'm used to, but I think I'll enjoy it."

Hope turns off the lights as we start to exit the building, "it will be. But I'm sure you'll love it, Beverly. You were always so great with patients on rounds I remember. But, the thing you'll have to remember is that out here we're really only treating human patients. I know you might be used to a broader panoply of species."

"Yes, I am. But, I'll have more time to explore other things and work on my research in my downtime."

"You certainly will. Well, how about we get some lunch and continue talking? I know you're probably going to want to talk to Jean Luc first before you commit to anything, but I'd love to catch up."

"Certainly. That sounds wonderful. I am sure that Jean Luc will like it here. And you won't have to wait for a decision for long. I'll probably let you know definitively by this evening."

"Oh? So soon?"

"Yes. Jean Luc is meeting with the head of the archaeology department at UW right now and if he's likes what he sees, then we'll commit."

"Wonderful. Well let's get some lunch. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I know this great little café in town that makes a mean burger and you can tell me about this new romance in your life. I want all the juicy details."

I laugh, "Sounds like a plan – and something that you'll learn about me is that I'm always hungry. Lead on."


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanks to you very kind people who have been reviewing. I really appreciate you guys. Love hearing from you and I appreciate all your kind words! Bless! **

"Jean Luc?" I enter the small apartment and I know he's home; I can smell dinner.

"Beverly?" I love seeing Jean Luc wearing casual clothing. He's wearing a pair of loose jeans and a green T-shirt. He looks relaxed and happy and I'm hoping that it's a result of his meeting at UW.

Today was the longest we've been away from one another in a couple of days and I have to admit that I missed him like a lovesick teenager. "Jean Luc," I smile as he moves towards me. He wastes no time as he folds me into his arms and kisses me soundly. His tongue runs over my lower lips and opens me to him. I've missed his taste. It's so distinctively Jean Luc and I don't think that I'll ever have enough of it. I pull away as I feel his growing arousal pressed against me. Even though I want to indulge my own need to be close to him and make love to him, I need to hear about his day.

I purposefully didn't let myself get too attached to Yakima. Believe me, it took a lot of restraint. Hope and I moved easily back into a collegial friendship. She's someone that I can see myself working with. I loved working with Alyssa, Selar, and Eric Hill on the Enterprise, but there always seemed to be a sort of disjointedness to our camaraderie. We all had conflicting duty schedules and hardly any of us spoke outside of work. Alyssa and I had an inkling of a friendship, but I always felt that she looked to me more as a mother figure than as a friend. With Hope, however, we have common ground outside of the fact that we're both doctors. We both have sons, a common interest in regenerative medicine, and we graduated from the same class and share common memories as such. I think that working alongside her would be a team effort and something rather fun, enjoyable, and professionally fulfilling.

"Jean Luc, as much as I _need_ to make love to you, I absolutely have to hear about how your meeting went today."

He smiles, opening himself to me, and chuckles, "Beverly, I turned down all the other offers before you came home."

Elation fills me and I feel the urge to shout my joy from the rooftops, "You did!"

"Yes. It's a perfect opportunity and I accepted the position. I hope that I wasn't too presumptuous and that your meeting went well too," he looks almost nervous. "I know that I should have talked to you, but the situation felt right and I acted a little impulsively."

For a moment I can't speak and I'm overwhelmed. Tears of happiness start to build behind my eyes and I start to shake my head. "Oh Beverly! I'm sorry. I can call them bac-"

"No! Jean Luc, I'm crying because I'm happy!"

He breathes a sign of relief and releases the tension that had built in his body. "So, uh," it's terribly adorable that he's almost afraid to say the words, "are we moving to Yakima, Washington?"

I can't stop my tears and I start to nod my head. Jean Luc let's out the loudest whoop I've ever heard as he swings me into his arms and twirls me around. I can't stop laughing and crying. I never thought that I could experience so much happiness and I hold on to the man I love even tighter, almost afraid that I'll wake up and it'll just be a dream.

I feel his grip on me loosen and I slide down his body. I'm much to excited to eat and there is really only one thing that I want.

"Jean Luc," I whisper, still cradled in his arms.

"Beverly?"

"Is this real?"

"God, I hope so," he breathes. "I still can't believe that you're here and that you're mine."

"Jean Luc?"

"Yes, Beverly?"

"Will you marry me?"

"Oh Beverly," I hear him utter softly. I love the way that he looks at me. It's like he's beholding something wonderful and sacred. He looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time, "a thousand times yes."

Our eyes lock and he brings me closer to him. Our lips meet and our tongues lazily battle for dominance as he leads me towards the bedroom. We've learned from the first time that we made love not to try and shed our clothing while moving to the bedroom. No, this time will be slow. This time it will be passionate. This time orgasm will not be our first goal. Now, in this moment, we want to show one another our love. Now we'll touch and explore, give and receive.

/

"What do you think?" He's wearing only his boxers as we sit in the candlelight. The dim light of the small flame bounces off his muscular form and highlights the soft lines of his face.

"What do I think about what?" I ask, still basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

He swallows a bite of our now cold dinner, "food tastes better after making love."

"Oh about that? Yes. Definitely. However, we're going to have to start eating more if we're going to keep this up," I laugh as I kiss a bit of spaghetti sauce off the corner of his lip.

"So," I begin, "in all of our excitement you didn't tell me any of the details of your meeting."

"Ditto. But, uh," he sits up in his chair and puts his plate down on the table, "the current professor is retiring and they've already prepared his old office for me. It's a lovely office: very bright and airy, and plenty of shelf space on which I can display my nick knacks-"

"You've got plenty of those" I playfully interject.

"Hey!" He interjects – I'm not the only one, Miss Packrat 2375."

"Hey! I am not a packrat. I'll have you know that everything that I save has a purpose!"

He smiles at the ridiculousness of my statement, "and what purpose, pray tell, does a box full of empty hypospray phials serve?"

"I'll have you know that those have a very unique design!" He's right. I'm sort of a packrat.

"I'm sure," he cocks his eyebrow is typical Jean Luc fashion.

"Getting back to your meeting…"

"Oh, yes, well – you know Beverly it's hard to focus on anything when all you're wearing is my shirt…"

I leer coyly, reveling in the effect that I have on this unshakable man, "Jean Luc, whatever happened to your famous self control?"

"It went out the window when I got engaged to you."

"Do you want me to put on something more modest?"

"Don't you dare! As I was saying: they have an office all ready for me and they're going to start me out teaching 3 classes in the fall: one for freshman on basic archaeological principles, and then two for upper level archaeology majors. For those two they are letting me design my own curriculum. They're even giving me tenure – which is a quite a leap of faith on their part. "

"Jean Luc, that is wonderful news – and tenure!"

"Yes, I thought so," he looks very satisfied with himself! "Now, your turn."

"Jean Luc you are going to love Yakima. It's a lot like I imagine LaBarre to be like in that it's almost free of the technological constraints of the 24th century. It looks more like one of your Dixon Hill programs than it does downtown San Francisco."

"I can't wait to see it. How was your meeting with Hope? I assume you're happy with what you saw."

"It was perfect. We just picked up where we left off from the old Academy days. It's going to be quite a change for me, though. I'll no longer be treating many patients that aren't human, nor will I be doing much surgery unless I choose to put myself on rotation at the nearby hospital – something I am seriously considering doing. Other than that, though, my schedule will be a little more set. We'll have weekends together, which is a bonus. And I loved the practice. It's absolutely beautiful. I can't wait for you to see it," I'm getting giddy just talking about it!

"I can't wait either, Beverly. For the first time, things in our lives are going to be somewhat normal. I still can't believe that we're not on the Enterprise dealing with hostile species-"

"Or species that take over our bodies!"

"Or holograms who take over the ship!"

"Or time rifts!"

"Or Q!"

"Oh thank Heavens we don't have to deal with Q!" I think for Jean Luc that is the greatest relief!

"Shh!" I express theatrically as I lower my voice, "we don't want him to hear us!"

He nods his head knowingly and smiles at me. "We did have a good run of it though, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. Do you have any regrets?" I'm almost nervous to hear his answer.

"I regret that we didn't get closer sooner. I regret all the lives that I lost under my command. I regret sometimes being too proud and too stubborn. But, no, overall I don't have many regrets. Do you?"

"No, Jean Luc. I don't. Because if we had done anything differently we wouldn't be here now and that is truly something that I would regret."

We sit in silence for a time, basking in the wonder of just being together until I break the silence, "let's get to bed. I think that tomorrow we should go house hunting. Hope told me about some properties and I saw a real estate office in downtown Yakima today that we should stop in to."

"Agreed. We have enough money to be able to afford a home and new furniture, and due to location I don't think we'll have trouble finding something reasonable."

I look at the table littered with dirty plates and empty wine glasses, "would you think me a terribly messy future wife if I left the dishes for morning?"

He steps into me and his arms encircle my waist. He leans in close and I can smell the faintly sweet smell of wine on his tongue mingled with the basil of the spaghetti sauce, "no," whispers as he moves in to feather kisses on my neck, "I'm beginning to like messy."


	22. Chapter 22

We left the transporter station over an hour ago and made our way through the center of Yakima to the real estate office that Hope had shown me just yesterday. The office was quite empty when we arrived, the only person there being a lovely woman named Deborah.

"So," Deborah shifts in her seat, "what is it that you two are looking for exactly?"

"Well," Jean Luc looks at me and takes my hand, "we want to start a family so we're looking for a home that we can grow into."

"Are you looking for something close to the center of town?"

We look at one another, "we don't really have a preference."

Deborah scans the console in front of her, "price point?"

"We haven't really set one. We want something modest, but we're willing to spend a little more if it's something we really like."

She's focused, still scanning the screen in front of her as she scribbles notes on a stray piece of paper, "alright, Beverly, John Luke," she looks up, seeing us smile. I don't think she realizes how funny it is to her Jean Luc's name said with such a typically American drawl, "I have several properties that I can show you today if you like?"

Jean Luc is less taken aback than I was at the sight of the ground car. Sitting in the back seat he whispers, "I haven't been in such a car since I was a little boy in Labarre!"

"If we're going to live here, we're going to have to get one. They locals don't seem to take to hover cars."

"Apparently," he looks out the car window as we amble away from the town's center.

The scenery in this area is all very much the same and all very serene. We drive through fields growing corn and other crops. The horizon is graced with the forms of undulating mountains, some whose tops are covered in snow. The sky this afternoon is much like it was yesterday. The sun is hung high and its rays warm the mild summer air.

Soon, Deborah turns down another road, which takes us through a forest. The car's windows are down and the smell of the pines mingles with the cool air and blows through my hair. I close my eyes and I feel Jean Luc take my hand and entwine our fingers.

"Well," the car comes to a halt, "here we are." I open my eyes and the sight of the house in front of me takes my breath away. "Now, you said that price wasn't a concern so I'm taking a little chance in showing you this property. But, it is one of the nicest homes that we have for sale in the area without going too far outside of Yakima's city limits."

Jean Luc is just as speechless as I am as he opens the door and helps me out of the car. "It's absolutely stunning," he states. And it is.

"Yes, it most certainly is."

"Would you like to see inside?" Deborah seems almost amused by our reaction.

I stop a moment just to look at the house before we walk towards it. It's a large home, sitting on a raised bit of land, not quite a hill. It's a wood construction with a large-stone foundation. The front of the house is covered in large windows that reflect off the images of the trees that surround the house. There look to be about two generously sizes stories and even perhaps an attic.

It's quiet here. Not even Caldos is this quiet. I can hear the sound of the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling through the grass. The grass under my feet is brittle and it sounds like it's breaking as we tread upon it.

The inside of the home is just as stunning as the outside. The front door opens into a foyer. The first thing that you see is a white staircase. Straight ahead is a hallway leading down into the kitchen.

Deborah leads the way into the belly of the house. "It's got 4 generously sized bedrooms and a 3 and a half bathrooms. It's fully outfitted with replicators and clothing recyclers, but you do have an option of installing a traditional washer/dryer set if you prefer. All the kitchen appliances are brand new; the previous owner was a professional chef so everything in the kitchen is high grade."

The kitchen is impressive. It's large and open with ample counter space and something that Deborah calls an 'island'. Not all homes in the 24th century are equipped with kitchens as elaborate as this. Many people find that with the convenience of the replicator they have no need for a traditional kitchen. However, Jean Luc and I find that having a kitchen is a necessity. For the past few weeks, we haven't taken to cooking. Even on the Enterprise we solely used the replicators. Now, however, we'd like to start living more elementally by preparing our own meals rather than depending on the handiness of modern technology.

"Here we have the dining room. It's big for a table that seats 12-18. It would be great for big dinner parties or even at Christmas!" And it is an impressive room. What strikes me so much about the house is how light it is. There are so many windows and the view from each window is unique. The front of the house looks out on the front yard, which is mostly trimmed green grass with the exception of the drier brown patches. The sides of the home are flanked by forest. But the back looks out on a large open field that stretches for acres and acres on end. There's plenty of room to make a large garden and even plant some vegetables and herbs.

"The living room is well-sized and the nice thing about it is these vaulted ceilings. The previous owner put a lot of work into the moldings around the edges." The ceilings are high and accented with large wooden beams that act to highlight the grandiosity of the room.

"Off the dining room here we have this small hallway leading to a home office and a nicely sized bathroom." I like the idea of the office for Jean Luc and myself. It could be a shared space where he grades papers and plans his syllabi. I could use it to dictate patient charts and read for my various research products. From what I can see, there is more than enough room in the office for both of us.

"Now I'll take you two upstairs – you've both been awfully quiet, are you two alright?"

Jean Luc looks at me and smiles knowingly. We're already sold on the home. It suits our needs and it's somewhere that we can grow our family, "yes, Deborah. We're sorry for being so silent – we're, uh," he looks at me, and I continue, "we'll take it." That just sort of tumbled out. I feel a little presumptuous and I look at my fiancé almost ashamedly. All he does is give me a reassuring nod, "yes – yes we'll take it."

"Are you two sure? I almost feel a little sneaky showing you the best and priciest property that we have right at the outset."

"No. It's perfect. In fact, it's not too expensive and we really love the house." And it's the truth. This property is less expensive than my one room flat in downtown San Francisco – however we won't tell that to Deborah.

"Okay then! Well, I'll just show you two the upstairs for posterity, then we'll go back to the office, sign the necessary paperwork, and then I'll give you two the keys to your new home!"

The upstairs is as open as the downstairs. It has a master bedroom with an en suite complete with a very large water shower, a sonic shower, a generously sized tub, twin sinks, and of course a toilet. The other three bedrooms are large and as we move in to see them I can't help but get excited. I wonder, as we pass through the first one, if this will be our daughter's room. I can see us painting it in hues of pinks and yellows. I can see Jean Luc setting up the crib and me agonizing over which mobile to buy. I tighten my grip on Jean Luc's hand in anticipation of this wonderful life.

/

"Well, you two, congratulations – you're home owners!" There's something so fundamental about signing our names on a piece of paper to signify what we've just done. Deborah hands us the antique keys to our home and we step out into the Yakima night air.

Jean Luc takes my hand as he heads in the direction of the transporter station. I stop though and pull him back to me, "hey" I whisper softly.

"Hey," he moves in to kiss me. The Jean Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise never would have kissed his CMO on the sidewalk in full public view. But over the past few weeks, this wonderful man – if it's possible- has become even more wonderful. I would have taken Jean Luc in any way that he offered himself to me. But the man in whose embrace I am now locked in is the Jean Luc Picard that I dreamed of. He's unfettered and happy. He's carefree and expressive of his love. And tomorrow – tomorrow this man will be my husband and I can't wait.


	23. Chapter 23

"Jean Lu-," it's hard to keep any coherent thought in my mind when he's pressing hot, wet kisses along the back of my neck. It takes the strenuous effort of every muscle in my body to pull away from him, "Jean Luc, don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?"

He pulls me back to him, rolling my body seamlessly underneath his, "Uh no," he shakes his head as he continues his earlier action, "I don't think I've ever heard that. Not ever." He's lying, trying to feign innocence.

"Jean Luc!" I scream out in a fit of laugher. He knows better than to tickle that spot behind my knee!

He lifts his head, "really, Beverly, I don't know why you keep resisting?" before he resumes his previous activity. He's inching lower and lower beneath the covers feathering kisses all the way down – making sure, with painstaking detail, that his lips leave none of my body untouched.

"Ah! Jean Luc now you sound like someone we both know and hate!" I start to laugh even though it's really not laughing matter.

He starts to laugh as well, "the_ Borg_?"

"Yessss." He's got to stop this. We have to get ready. We're getting married in 4 hours. I don't think that he understands what painstaking efforts women have to go through to look presentable on their wedding day. I tried telling him earlier, but all I got was a scolding: "_Beverly, I'd marry you even if you came wearing a bin bag and you had spinach in your teeth". _

He seems amused with himself – I can hear it in his voice underneath the sheet, "Maybe you didn't do as good of as good of a job as you thought you did, _Doctor, _in removing all those implants from Locutus!"

That's it – he'll pay for that one! – Aaaaaaah! – Just not right now…

/

"Jean Luc, what time did we tell the Justice of the Peace that we'd meet him? Also, when are we signing the marriage license?"

"I think we said we'd meet him at noon. But we told Deanna, Will, and Wesley to meet us at the courthouse at 11:30. As for the license, we'll just sign it when we're there. He said it wouldn't be problem. Listen, Beverly are you sure about this – I mean don't you want a proper wedding?"

"No. This was my idea, remember? Do you – Jean Luc, do you want a proper wedding?" I suddenly feel very selfish. I've already had the big fairy tale wedding. I've already worn the ostentatious gown and gone through all the rigors of planning a reception, getting a cake, sending out invitations, making seating arrangements, planning a honeymoon, etcetera. But then I remember, this is Jean Luc's first – and last – wedding. Is this enough for him?

I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear him sneak up behind me. I feel his large, warm hands wrap around my waist and I jump, slightly startled. "_Beverly_," he whispers, looking directly at me. He looks handsome. Jean Luc always looks incredibly handsome, but right now I can't take my eyes off him. I've only seen him in a suit once in my life: at my wedding to Jack. Thinking about that wedding brings bittersweet memories. That day, I married the wrong man. But, I don't regret marrying Jack in the sense that I don't regret having my wonderful son. But, I regret that it was time wasted away from the one man whose soul mine is bound to.

"Today, _my Beverly_, is perfect because I'm marrying you and I could think of nothing more extraordinary or _proper_ that that. I love you."

"Don't make me cry – I've already done my eye makeup and I don't think this mascara is waterproof." I grin to hold back the tears and I kiss him. "I love _you_ Jean Luc Picard, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

One small stray tear escapes despite my finely honed control and he gently wipes it away, "shhh. No apologies. No regrets." He steps away, breaking the moment, and leaving me to finish in solitude.

"Beverly, I'll see you in an hour! I'm going to pick up the rings and meet Wes, Deanna, and Will at the transporter station. Don't be late," I hear the smirk in his voice - he knows my penchant for tardiness.

"Wouldn't dream of it!" I reply as I hear the door shut.

It's my last hour as a single woman and I absolutely can't wait for it to pass. I try to focus myself on the task at hand: finding something to do with my hair. It's long now and thankfully my horribly short fringe has grown out to a respectable length. What should I do with the fringe? Should I pin it back?

Wait, was that the doorbell?

If it were Jean Luc he would've just let himself… I'm not expecting any company. Hope and Wesley are the only other two people who know where the house is. I'm not decent enough to be seen by guests! I hardly want to scandalize any poor caller when all I'm wearing is my robe...

There it is again. Ach, what the hell!

"Coming!"

The door slides open and reveals the most wonderful surprise, "Deanna!" grab her petite form and fold her into a hug. It's been too long for two friends who are used to seeing one another on a daily basis.

"Really, Beverly – I'm ashamed of you," she smiles, "an hour until your wedding and you've hardly gotten your hair done!"

"Well are you going to stand here scolding me or are you going to help me?!" I laugh.

"I'll help you."

"Alright, De, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"That my finished hair looks nothing like those beehives you used to sport." I say deadpan.

The biggest grin spreads across her face and she starts to snicker, "just for that, my dear doctor, I'm purposefully going to give you the most flamboyant Betazoid wedding hairstyle you've ever seen!"

"Don't you dare!"

"Bev, we've got to hurry. I'll do something tasteful with your carrot top. You focus on putting on your face."

Within 40 minutes we're out the door. We chose to get married in Yakima over San Francisco. This is our home now. We want to leave behind the memories associated with San Francisco. Yes, there are a lot of good memories there, but there's also a lot of hurt. Here in Yakima we're making a fresh start.

Last night after we signed the papers for the home we were able to beam our belongings from the apartment in San Francisco and from storage over into the new home. The house, now, is just a jumble of storage containers and furniture that doesn't yet belong anywhere. But, it's home.

Hope is waiting outside to take us to the courthouse. We're running a little behind schedule so I've told her to "floor it", an old expression I heard in an old Earth film some time ago.

"Beverly! You look absolutely stunning! Jean Luc is one lucky man."

I smile, "Hope, this is one of my dearest friends Deanna Troi."

"Deanna," Hope folds her warmly into a hug, "good to meet you. Any friend of Beverly's is a friend of mine."

"Nice to meet you too, Hope." I don't think that Deanna has met anyone as warm as Hope in quite a while as evinced by the look of surprise on her face at the hug. Other than Guinan, we truly don't have many "warm souls" on the Enterprise. In fact, they're in short supply in all of Starfleet. Deanna is used to dealing with the typical Starfleet persona: cold, driven, vigorously motivated and shut off from others. In that respect, I can see why Deanna is drawn to Will. In a lot of ways he's a lot like Hope. He's boisterous and funny. He loves people and he shows that love liberally. But Will has hardened over the years as a result of our circumstances and the demands of command.

I've been lucky with Jean Luc. Before recently, he was so hardened towards me and everyone else. Getting him to talk and open up was like trying to solve an impenetrable mystery. He shut himself away behind his title and used it as an excuse not to get close to anyone. I'm thankful that he's allowed me to let me love him and that I've allowed him to love me in return. I've never really understood the emotion, or the state of being, of love. Up until this point, I've been selfish with my love. Regretfully, I've even been selfish when it comes to giving my love to my son. But, loving Jean Luc has opened parts of me that I never knew existed. Loving him has made me happy. Loving him has taught me how to love.

Hope breaks my musing, "So, Beverly, where's the honeymoon?"

"In the house!" And it will be… All over the house. I can hear Deanna laughing in the backseat. The truth of the matter is that even though Jean Luc and I have both saved and received a good sum of money, a good chunk of it has gone into the house and buying furniture. We want to save the rest – as much as there might be – for when we start having children or we need to make any updates to the house itself.

Hope knows. She just smiles and nods her head knowingly as we approach the center of town. I see the courthouse in the distance and suddenly I get butterflies in my stomach, my heart starts pounding, and the biggest, goofiest, most serene smile plants itself on my face. I'm going to see him and in a few moments I'm going to marry him. I can't wait.


	24. Chapter 24

All people have different ways of remembering things. Some people are more visual. If they see something familiar, it can trigger a whole memory cascade. Other people are more auditory; the sound of a particular instrument or song will bring them back to a certain point in time. I, however, associate memories with smells.

I must have over a hundred bottles of different perfumes lying in storage. Every single one of them is associated with a different point in my life. One of my perfumes, I can't remember the name of it – it's in a half empty, small, red bottle – reminds me of my first year at the academy. I can't help but be brought back to Instructor Davies' freshman xenobiology seminar every time I smell it.

And it's not only perfumes; the smell of burning wood brings me to Nana's home on Caldos. She always kept a fire burning, as it never really grew that warm even in summer. And camellias – I can't even go near a camellia plant without thinking of Nana. She planted them outside of her home and she placed a bouquet of them in every room of the house. She said they made her happy and brought sunshine into the house.

From today, though, I will associate the smell of well-worn wood and summer with my wedding. The Yakima courthouse is small and it lies directly in the heart of the town. It's an old wooden building with a well-manicured lawn and small shrubs that decorate the back and the sides.

Hope turns off the ignition and turns to me, "so, last few moments as a single woman."

I smile knowingly. I was never really single. My spirit has been tethered to Jean Luc's since the day that I met him. If I believed in fate or destiny, then I'd say that our souls were tied together since the beginning of time, written side by side in an unseen Book of Life.

"Beverly," Deanna slides forward in her seat, perching herself between Hope and I, "this is it."

"Yes." Yes. This is it. This is the beginning of a new chapter. This is the beginning of something wonderful. In an answer to her statement, I reach for the door handle and step out into the warm Yakima air. From what I've seen, it never gets overly hot here. Hope tells me that we'll get a few days of insufferable heat in late August, just before summer abnegates it's throne and concedes to Fall.

A light warm breeze blows down through the valley and rustles my dress. Jean Luc hasn't seen my dress and I'm excited to see his reaction to it. It's simple and understatedly elegant. I bought it in a small boutique in San Francisco a week ago. When the shop owner saw me in it, she said it was made for me. I think that she was just trying to make a sale, but still I couldn't agree more. The dress comes down only a few centimeters past my knees. It's cinched at the waist with a sash of golden fabric. The top is strapless and it forms a heart. The shop owner explained that it's made of Bajoran silk, a thicker blend than traditional human or even fine Vulcan silk, but somehow it still manages to flow elegantly.

I hear the sound of children's voices coming closer and closer to us. I look behind me and two young, sandy-haired boys with big smiles on their faces are running towards Hope shouting, "mom, mom!" A tall man walks steadily behind them, bringing up the rear.

"I know it's not a good time for introductions, but Beverly, Deanna, this is my husband Greg and these are my two boys," she looks down to the two young men latched onto her waist, "Thomas, and Andrew."

"It's nic-"

"Wow, you're really pretty!" The older of the two boys exclaims as he holds out his hand to me.

I can't help but giggle as I receive his handshake, "why thank you, I'm flattered!"

Gregg walks forward and extends his hand, "it's very good to meet you Beverly, Deanna," he nods his head. "Thank you for having us at your wedding. We're honoured and we're so grateful to be welcoming you into our family." His voice is warm and sincere. He's a good man and he reminds me of the man that I'm about to marry. Well," he signals in front of him, "shall we make out way in? Wouldn't want to keep the groom waiting!"

"Certainly not!" Deanna exclaims with a big grin. If it's even possible, I think she's more excited for me to marry Jean Luc than I am.

The old wooden doors to the courthouse creek open and suddenly I feel giddy, almost nervous. My stomach feels like it's dropping out. It's that same feeling I get when I'm in a shuttlecraft doing a loop-maneuver. No matter what anyone says, the inertial dampeners can't take away that feeling!

And there he is. I've seen him millions of times, but today it's the first. He looks nervous, though. He's pacing and he doesn't pace unless something is wrong. Is he having second thoughts? Does he not want to marry me? Bad news?

"What's wrong?" I whisper softly as I lead him away from the crowd.

"Beverly," he looks down at our joined hands, "Are you sure?"

"Jean Luc?" I'm stunned. How can he think that I'd be anything but sure?! And then it hits me: he's scared. And the worst part is that I'm mostly to blame. All these years he thought I didn't want him. He thought that I never returned his feelings for me.

"Beverly, what if..." he pauses trying to collect his thoughts and phrase what he's going to say, "what if I can't make you happy like-?"

My heart breaks. "Jean Luc, look at me."

He doesn't so I say it again, a little louder this time, "look at me."

I hold his hand a little tighter, "I'm sorry, Jean Luc. I'm sorry for all these years that's I've been too proud and too scared to love you and –"

"Beverly, stop. You're not the-"

I hold up my other hand, telling him to let me finish. I take a deep breath and let it out, "I love you and I've wanted to marry you since I was 23 years old. You make me happy. No one else. Just you."

Our guests are starting to look worried, but we're finished here when I ask him a second time, "Jean Luc Picard, will you marry me?" The worry lines on his face fade away and I see the most wonderful transformation, like a caterpillar emerging from its chrysalis to become a butterfly.

And for the second time he replies, "a thousand times yes."

The Justice of the Peace is a small man. It's funny to see him near Will Riker; he looks as small as a child. He smiles when he sees the lot of us enter his office.

"You must be John Luke and Beverly! It's good to see you." He ambles over to Jean Luc and I and shakes our hands.

He looks at our wedding party and smiles in recognition, "Oh! Hope, Greg! Good to see you! You too boys," he smiles and looks down at the two young boys who smile fondly back at him.

"How are you, Murphy?" Hope folds the small man into a warm hug. "Beverly," she walks near to me, "is the doctor I hired to be my new associate!"

"Oh wonderful!" The little man merrily exclaims! "So happy to meet both of you and to be able to perform your wedding ceremony. I see that you've brought plenty of witnesses!"

"Yes," Jean Luc looks around the room warmly. "This is Will Riker, my former first officer."

"Hello," there's that famous Riker grin.

The little man looks from Will to Jean Luc in surprise, "you wouldn't happen to be the Jean Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise, would you?"

Jean Luc warmly corrects him with a pat on the back, "former Captain of the Starship Enterprise. Now I'm a professor or archaeology at the University of Washington."

"My, my, my! Well it's good to meet you, Mr. Riker. And is this lovely young woman," he gestures at Deanna, "your wife?"

I let out a small chortle and look at Deanna, "no," Deanna begins, "we're not married. I'm Deanna Troi, the Enterprise's counselor."

Judge Murphy isn't finished yet, "well are you married?" He has a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Both Will and Deanna balk at the same time, "uh," she laughs nervously, "no."

Murphy looks at Will out of the corner of his eye, "are you?"

Will is having fun with this, I can tell as he laughs and shakes his head. "Well…" Murphy starts as he walks back over to Jean Luc and I, "that's a shame. But you know, I do a discounted rate on doubles!" He winks at the two of them and I can hear Wesley laughing in background.

I hear a small voice "mom, what's going on?"

Hope smiles down at her son Andrew, "Shh, honey," she kisses the top of his head and whispers, "I'll tell you later".

Murphy clears is throat and in doing so he refocuses the attention in the room, "John Luke, Beverly, all joking and banter aside, I am honoured that you have asked me to perform your wedding ceremony. And I'd like to thank everyone here for coming to support this wonderful couple."

"John Luke, Beverly please join hands." I turn to Jean Luc and I can't help but feel a little giddy as he takes my hands.

"We are gathered here for the wedding of John Luke Picard and Beverly Cheryl Crusher…"

Somehow I don't seem to hear the rest of what he says. Jean Luc is smiling at me and my world narrows to him. Looking at him now I see the boy he used to be and the man he's become. I see all of our struggles and our arguments, but more than that I see the way looks at me. I see the small things that he did, and does now, to show me he loves me. I hear the words of love he whispers in the throes of passion. I picture him holding our child. I see us growing old together. I see us loving each other with a gnawing ferocity and never stopping.

When Murphy asks me if I take this man, I don't hesitate. "Yes. I do". Forever. And then I hear him repeat those same words, and I know that our lives are irrevocably intertwined.

I'm in a trance when I hear, "John Luke, you may now kiss your bride." I smile when he moves in to me. I feel warm hand cup my cheek while the other snakes around my waist, drawing me flush against him. "I love you, Mrs. Picard." And his mouth claims mine in a searing kiss.

The need for air becomes overwhelming and he pulls away and I realize that my face feels damp. I look at my husband and I realize he's crying and not until he wipes my own cheeks do I realize that I am too. I see Murphy smiling at us and Wes moves in from the periphery.

"Captain, Mom, congratulations!"

"Yes! Finally!" I hear Will say as he brings me into a hug not before he gives Jean Luc the most ridiculous bear hug.

"Really Beverly, Jean Luc," Deanna smiles as she hugs each of us individually, "I'm so happy – and so is the rest of the crew! They've asked me to send their regards!"

Hope and Greg and their two boys move in last, "Jean Luc, Beverly, I'm so happy for you too. And I'm so grateful that you've come to Yakima to be with us."

I hardly hear anything that's being said. I'm lost in my thoughts as I look at my family: my _husband, Wes, _Will, Deanna, and now Hope, Greg, Andrew and Thomas. My family. Our Family.


	25. Chapter 25

"Jean Luc Picard! Put me down this instant before you pull something!"

I hear the reproach in his tone of voice, "Beverly, don't be ridiculous, you don't weigh what 8 stone? Plus, it's a tradition to carry the bridge over the threshold!"

Then I hear a sneaky tone in his deep voice, "besides," he mutters into my ear, "you need to save your strength for later, Mrs. Picard."

He can't stop saying my married name – and neither can I! I'm holding in my hand Hope's wedding gift to me. It's a plaque for my door. It's a present that has Hope's name written all over it: a traditional wooden plaque for my new office with the words inscribed, Dr. Beverly Picard, MD. It's the first time that I've seen my married name written out so officially. I remember one time when I was at the Academy; I was bored one evening while studying for my astrometrics exam. I can remember sitting there at my desk scribbling the name Beverly Picard over and over again in the margins of my padd. I erased it before Jack could have the slightest chance of seeing it, but I remember that it was the first time that I admitted to myself that I was in love with Jean Luc. Seeing my name on the plaque that Hope gave me is the realization of that girlish pipe dream and when she first placed it in my hands, I couldn't stop looking at it.

"Jean Luc, I think you can put me down now – we're well over the threshold."

"I know," he replies with a boyish grin, "but I just like holding you."

I smile and I move in to kiss my husband. It's supposed to be a chaste kiss of tenderness and gratitude. Within seconds, I feel my feet planted firmly on the ground. We separate for a moment; we're not supposed to start the honeymoon until we at least unpack a few of the boxes, but soon enough my back hits the wall and Jean Luc's hands have trapped me on both sides.

The house is still new to us; we've only spent one night here. Right now, we're sandwiched between the foyer and the dining room. Our lips meet again, I open my mouth to him, and immediately his tongue tangles with mine. Jean Luc is so comical: earlier, I caught him examining the back of my dress to see with how much ease it could be opened. He doesn't know I saw him do it, but it appears that he appraised the situation with honours as I feel his hands deftly move over the closures of the gown. The dress sags and the Bajoran silk enticingly whispers down my body as gravity claims its prize. I'm breathless and so is my husband. His eyes follow the trail of the dress and a wolfish grin encroaches on his face. I see his pupils dilate and his eyes become black with desire.

His hands slide down from the wall and they're cool as they skitter over my body. Like he's wielding a paintbrush, goosebumps start forming over the areas that he's touched. I imagine what a tantalizing image I'm presenting to him. I decided to forgo the bra; all I'm wearing is cream coloured lace lingerie. I let the moment pass before my own raw desire takes over and my hands start frantically undoing the small buttons of his shirt. My hands are frenzied and I'm getting frustrated when I keep missing buttons. He smiles and starts to take over while I attack the closure of his trousers. It all falls away and suddenly everything becomes so elemental. We're in our home, on our own piece of Earth, we're married, husband and wife, man and woman.

We're staring at one another. In the sunlight leaking through the windows, I'm able to look at all of him. I examine the contours of his chest, the abdomen, his legs, and his manhood – standing proudly at attention. He sees me smile and he starts to chuckle as he moves in to remove my last lace barrier. He's close, but I can't wait and I grab him, practically yanking him to me the rest of the way.

I latch onto him hungrily like a starving woman. He returns my fervour, moving closer to me and forcing me flush against the wall. For some reason I had imagined rose petals and candles this evening. I had imagined languorous hours of love making, but right now all I want is my husband.

"Jean Luc," I manage between searing kisses, "NOW!"

He smiles at my readiness. I think that by now the man knows that once I see him naked, I don't need any more preparation. It's nice, but it's by no means a necessity. He deftly hooks my leg over his hip and enters me in one quick movement. It's not a new sensation, but I cry out. I can feel my orgasm build and I know that I'm close. The thing is though: he hasn't started to move yet. I know that for both of us, this is going to be over practically as soon as it began.

He doesn't kiss me, he just looks at me and he starts to withdraw. I whimper at his absence but not before he slams back into me. And in that moment, I'm gone. My muscles contract all around him and my head slams loudly into the wall. I feel bad; as soon as my climax comes, the tightening of my walls around him force him over the edge and I feel a warmth spreading.

My knees sag and I feel him holding me up, "I'm sorry," I croak.

He moves close to feather kisses along my collarbone, "for what?"

I smile, "so fast."

I feel his head shake, "Beverly, it's hard to go slow with you."

"So," I begin, "should we break in the shower?"

He's still kissing me when I hear, "not yet. I have a surprise for you."


	26. Chapter 26

"A surprise? Other than the ground car that you surprised me with after the wedding?"

That I could not believe. _We left the courthouse and there it was, a new ground car. "you're going to need it for work," he whispered. _

_I laughed when I saw it, "did Hope help you pick this one out?" _

_Hope was nearby and she started laughing when I saw the reaction to the vintage looking vehicle, "I thought it would come in handy," she said, "it's called an SUV. They were popular back in the 21__st__ century and they're great family cars." _

_I turned to my husband, "it's perfect." _

"Yes. Now close your eyes."

I groan, "Jean Luc, you know I hate surprises! Although, the car was a nice one…"

He kisses my eye lids shut and leads me away from the wall, "yes, but you'll like this one too."

I can tell from the direction that we're walking that we're headed into the living room. "Are your eyes closed?" He whispers.

"Yes."

We come to a stop.

"Open."

"…how did you? When did you? Jean Luc…" It's beautiful. I don't know how he did it, but he's set up our whole living room. What this morning was a jumble of boxes and chaos now looks like a home.

A large beige sectional takes up the bulk of the room and he's chosen a white cloth ottoman to go in front of it. The ensemble surrounds a large stone fireplace. When we first saw the house, I was taken aback by the rudimentary grandeur of the fireplace. It's similar in construction to Nana's but, it made such a statement in the large room. The large windows let in the dusk light, illuminating the room before me, and my eyes tear up.

"We're not done, yet." He whispers.

"No," I say as tears of joy run down my cheeks, "Jean Luc, it's already too much."

He kisses away my tears, "it's never too much."

He takes my hand and leads me into the dining room. I didn't notice it when we came in, but what was before an empty dining room, is now inhabited by a large wooden table surrounded by high-back olive cloth-covered chairs.

Our combined artwork hangs on the wall in perfect tandem with the other. Jean Luc has always preferred more classical pieces whereas I've been titillated by more modern canvasses.

There's this painter who lives in San Francisco. Her name is Sarah T'Por. I read an article about her once in the Arts and Lifestyle section of the San Francisco gazette. She's of mixed Vulcan and Human heritage and her artwork blends the two cultures seamlessly. The lines in her paintings are exact and precise, but her colour schemes are given to whimsy and fantasy.

When I was the head of Starfleet Medical I would pass her studio on my way to work. When I wasn't running late, I would stop and look at the canvasses that she had on display in the window. I never bought any of them; they were much too expensive and I had no place in my small flat to put them. But somehow, Jean Luc bought my two favourite pieces and I'm indescribably touched.

"Jean Luc?" I let go of his hand and meander over to the first one, hanging on the far east wall, "this isn't an original Sarah T'Por, is it?"

He walks over and puts his arms around my waist, "yes. I remember you mentioning to me that you liked her work, so I contacted Sarah and she told me that she hadn't yet sold these two pieces. Uh, so I bought them for you. These are the ones that you liked, I hope…" He suddenly sounds so unsure of himself and tears once again spring forth from my eyes.

"Yes, Jean Luc, yes – they are."

I turn in his arms and hold him close, "I don't know what to say." I really don't. I'm too overwhelmed.

"Two more."

I've given up trying to resist that this point so I just follow him as he takes my hand and leads me down the small downstairs hallway. I'm suddenly grateful for our isolation on this large stretch of land. I don't know what any neighbours would think if they saw me and my husband walking around our home completely naked in the light of day!

He opens the door to our home office and what I see is exactly what I pictured. There are two desks and two comfortable chairs. He's had all of our books, journals, and pads taken out of storage and placed on the bookshelves that cover the walls. I can just see us here, working long into the night. He'll be writing syllabi and writing student evaluations while I read the latest research and dictate patient charts. "Jean Luc…" It's too wonderful and I don't have words to describe the utter gratitude that I'm feeling. To say that I feel overwhelmed would be trite. I don't deserve this wonderful man. I don't deserve his love or his gifts or his patience with me.

"Beverly?"

"Mmm" I'm lost in my own thoughts as I look at the scene before me. I don't know how he knew. I just –

"Beverly, say something." His voice is soft and low.

"Jean Luc, it's wonderful. It's exactly what I – thank you."

A big warm grin spreads over his face as he turns me towards him, "no, Beverly. Thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank for you marrying me. You've opened parts of my heart that I thought were long closed. You've brought warmth to me and awoken me from loneliness."

What can I say in response to that? Saying 'thank you' is inadequate. Saying 'I love you' doesn't have enough meaning. All I can do I is move in close to him and hug his body close to mine, reveling in the fact that he's mine.

"Just one more," I hear him say. I can tell this is the one he's most excited about as we run up the stairs. His hand pulls at mine as we reach our bedroom. My mind is on sensory overload as my feet patter across the cold wooden floors of the hallway into the bedroom where the most beautiful picture sits in wait for me. There it is. There's the bed. It's the one I always thought we'd have. Its old frame shows the wear and tear of centuries of use. It's his parents' bed.

"Robert gave it to us as a wedding gift. It belonged to my parents." I'd seen the bed once when Jean Luc took me to Labarre to visit his family. I remember telling Marie how much I loved the bed. She told me that Jean Luc's great father had carved the headboard and the four posts. I couldn't help but stand there and marvel at the detail in the wood. The carvings are like nothing I've seen before. The lines tell stories of the land and of his family. They're clean and smooth, a testament to the age and the sturdiness of the wood. Covering the large bed is a beautiful white quilt that lies over a plush duvet.

"I dreamed of this, Jean Luc."

He kisses my hair, "I know."

"How?" I don't think I told him of my secret dream – not even when we first became lovers.

"Because I know you." And there it is. He knows me. He knows me better than anyone. It's always been him. I don't know how to thank him for all of this. I don't know what to say. Words and speaking such inadequate entities, so I proceed show him how much I love him and how grateful I am for what he's done and who he is.


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you, Lindsay for your lovely comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much! More to come :). -Becca**

I'm still not used to the early sunrises and the late sunsets of summer. I feel the warmth of the sunbeams that dance on the walls of our bedroom, and the rays on my eyelids wake me and usher me into a new day. I feel his warm body next to mine. It's unconscious on his part, but I'm still flattered as I feel his arousal pressed against my back. My husband is truly unquenchable.

I had always suspected that he would be a passionate lover. When we were younger, everything that Jean Luc did he did with enthusiasm and fervour. His passion for certain things dwindled over the years and when I met him again on the Enterprise, I felt that a part of him had died. I understood that he was in a position of command and esteem, which did not lend itself to as wide an array of interests and hobbies that he had when we were younger. But, now, he's reawakened.

I used to think that Jean Luc's sole passion was for the stars and space exploration, but now I see that he's so much more multi faceted. I knew that his knowledge of archaeology was broad, but I had no idea just how extensive his interests are. He gets so excited when he talks to me about ancient Milean cultures. And you should see the wonder that spreads over his face when he talks about the spread of technology from the Asosians to the Minaltins!

And literature! He's always been fond of Shakespeare. In his quarters on the Enterprise he had a bookshelf filled top to bottom with the Bard's stories and Sonnets, but as I glanced at his side of our office yesterday, I realized that his taste is even broader. He consumes everything from Chaucer to Homer to CS Lewis.

I can't wait for him to start teaching. I know how compelling his students are going to find him. I remember my favourite professor at the Academy, Instructor Langley. She reminded me a lot of the character played by Barbara Streisand in one of my favourite old films, The Mirror Has Two Faces. Instructor Langley taught Comparative Species Anatomy and it was one of the hardest courses I took.

I remember downloading the course information and scanning through it before the first day of classes. I distinctly recall looking at that padd and thinking what a hard time I was going to have with that course. The material was daunting and the syllabus was intimidating. Having to learn human anatomy is one thing, but then having to memorise degenerate Klingon anatomy is quite another. Even Vulcans have some variety of organs and nervous pathways that humans don't have. Anyway, I was sitting in class on the first day, fidgeting in my seat and steeling myself for what I thought was going to be the most boring set of lectures in my life. But then, Instructor Langley walked into the lecture hall and my eyes nearly dropped out of my head! Most Starfleet instructors are very straight-laced and serious. They have no time for jokes and games or humour.

But, Instructor Langley walked in and her hair was all a mess around her head, her uniform was disheveled, her shirt was much too large for her and it was un-tucked and hung just above her knees. I didn't think that she could possibly have been for real. But when she started talking – I was drawn in. She made everything a story. She even came up with a song about the Vulcan gonadal glands and she made the whole class learn it! She made what could have been the most atrocious class one of the most enjoyable that I ever took. She was a magnificent woman.

I suspect that aside from the crazy hair and the disheveled uniform, Jean Luc's students will be just as captivated. His excitement is palpable and they won't be able to resist.

I can tell from his even breathing that my husband is still fast asleep. I slowly disentangle myself from his embrace and I quietly make my way down to the kitchen. I still can't believe that we own this house. I still can't believe that it was just over a month ago that we were still on the Enterprise. I could never have predicted this type of change in our lives.

Something this morning feels different, and it isn't just the weight of an extra ring on my left finger. I can't exactly pin point what it is. The more hopeful side of me wants to think that I'm pregnant, but that would be too good to be true. I don't think that the universe would allow so much happiness for one person in such a small amount of time.

I smile as I walk through the kitchen, scrutinizing it closer this time. In my mind's eye I can see Jean Luc and I cooking meals together. I can see highchairs with babies. I can see party platters filled with hor d'oeuvres. I can see guests and hear laughter and joking.

I leave the kitchen and saunter into the living room. I'm still blown away with how Jean Luc managed to have all of this arranged in the hours that we were away from the house. I suspected that he was up to something yesterday. I put it aside, though, when I saw the car. I thought that was the big surprise.

All through lunch, though, he couldn't sit still. I should have suspected something but I was just too damn happy to finally be married to him to think about what was going on in his head. Yesterday was a beautiful day, though. I don't regret not having a big wedding, and I don't think Jean Luc does either. What we had was absolutely perfect. I wish that Nana and Jean Luc's brother and his family could have made it. But, it's harvest time in LaBarre and Robert couldn't leave the winery. He did, however, transport a case of Jean Luc's favourite vintage.

Will and Deanna couldn't stay long. We asked them about their new orders and who was receiving captainship of the Enterprise. Will relayed that the admiralty was considering giving it to him. However, he told us that Nechayev mentioned to him in passing that they were already considering giving him the Titan – a newer ship. Deanna will most likely remain on the Enterprise.

I laugh for a moment remembering the moment in the courthouse where Judge Murphy offered to marry Will and Deanna. I hope they don't take as long as Jean Luc and I did to act on their feelings. I worry about Will, though. Without a solid relationship, he's given to wandering. I used to roll my eyes when we would come in contact with a new species and Will's first response – if it was a female- was to flirt. Do you know how much havoc Will's reckless romances wreaked on the Enterprise? I know that Jean Luc was reluctant to address it, but if it got any worse, I was about to say something!

I smile, looking down at myself. I don't think that I've put clothing on since my wedding gown was peeled off of me yesterday. That will have to change soon, though. Hope was sweet when she said that she wanted to give me as much time off as I wanted before I started working. I spoke to Jean Luc about it briefly. We both agreed that I should start working as soon as possible. He knows how restless I'm prone to be if I'm idle for too long. Also, Hope's patient load is enormous for one woman. I don't think that I've seen 50 patients by myself since I was a resident and I was on the on-call shift. And she's been doing it now for years!

I continue my saunter through the house. I'm amazed by how wonderful it looks. Our walls are adorned in artwork that I thought I'd never be able to display. Nana gave me some pieces a while back, but like the rest they were placed in storage. Now, though, the walls are resplendent with colourful canvasses.

I smile as I hear footsteps behind me, ushering into my line of sight my very handsome and very naked husband. He moves in to kiss me, "I woke up and you weren't next to me."

"Lonely?" I ask between kisses.

"Insufferably." He moves lower to kiss my collarbone, my breasts, and lower.

"Jean Luc! Don't you want to make it to the bedroom?" I laugh as his kisses tickle the soft skin of my stomach.

"No," he shakes his head, "we're christening the house."


	28. Chapter 28

"Well what did you do about it when you were on your vacation on Risa?" I scold.

"Ouch!"

"Hold still! Jean Luc I'm not going to do it correctly if you keep squirming!"

"Well it hurts!" He sounds like a petulant little boy as he continues, "When I was on Risa I just put some special oil on it. I can't remember what it was."

"Ok, you big baby, we're all finished."

There are some areas of Jean Luc's life that I thought by now he would be used to dealing with – his bald head is one of them. I, however, was wrong when I came inside and saw him holding an icepack on it. Apparently if there aren't beaches around, Jean Luc seems to think that the possibility of sunburn is negligible.

"Luckily, mister, we have the convenience of dermal regenerators. Do you know how much agony you'd be in if we were living back 250 years ago?"

"No," he grumbles, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Well, let's just say you'd be in much more pain and your complaining would take on a greater frequency."

I put my med kit back in the hall cabinet and look at my horribly cute husband. He has puppy dog eyes and I can't help but imagine a little boy sitting in that seat right there after he's had his first skinned knee and giving me the same face.

"The good news is," I continue, "is that we got most of the bulbs planted so your pain was not in vain." And with that I kiss his head. "All better?"

I should have seen it coming; just as I started to pull away, he catches my arm and pulls me back, "Yes, but I can think of something that would make it even better." He stands, only a little taller than myself, and leans in to kiss me.

"Oh no!" I laugh as I put my left hand between us, "You know better than to start that now! You know that if you start that, Jean Luc, we'll never make it to the farmers market!"

"No, no," He's putting on those doe eyes again, "I'll be quick. I promise!"

I move away again, but he's too fast and before I know it he's cradling me in his arms, "Jean Luc Picard! You are being extremely naughty. You and I both know that we're going to want 3 rounds of 'quick' and this is the first farmers market of the summer."

I can feel his warm kisses on the back of my neck come to a halt, and then he surrenders, "ok. You're right."

I turn in his arms and kiss him soundly, "Later. And that's one promise you know that I'll keep."

/

I've never been to what Hope calls a 'farmer's market'. But when she explained what it was, I knew that I had to go. Apparently, farmers and vendors from all over the valley come and set up small tents and stands and sell their goods. She said there's everything from fresh produce, homemade cheeses, to beer from local microbreweries, and even a selection of meats and eggs from locally raised animals.

"So," I begin as I turn to my husband, "are you driving?" That is really my way of saying, 'you're driving.'

He's got that look in his eyes, "no. You are."

"No. I'll kill us." I really don't want to drive. Driving a hover car was bad enough and then I didn't have to worry about driving off road or crashing into anything.

"No, you won't. I'll teach you. You're going to have to start driving it next week when you start working anyhow."

I sag my shoulders in defeat. "You're right."

"You'll do fine, Beverly." He kisses my cheek before handing me the keys and opening the passenger seat door.

"Alright," I settle into the drivers seat. "It's been so long since I drove. Walk me through it again."

"Alright, well you know the basics: the wheel, the brakes and the 'gas' pedal." He says as he points at each of them.

"Right," I look down at the brake and the 'gas' pedal, memorizing them with my feet.

"Alright so what you are going to want to do first is adjust your mirrors. See the two little controls on the door?"

"These two?"

He looks over, "yes, exactly. Adjust those so that both mirrors show you the sides of the car. Now, what you want to remember is that you don't want to be looking directly at the sides of the car, but you just want to be able to see the faint outline."

I adjust the mirrors to Jean Luc's specifications. "Alright."

"Alright, now adjust the rear view mirror so that you can see behind you."

With a small turn of my wrist, I'm able to adjust the simple mirror, "is that it?"

"That's it. Now, put the key in the ignition and turn on the car."

The car rumbles to life with a familiar hum. "Alright, now, you don't have to worry about backing out because our driveway is large enough, so just turn the wheel and bring us full circle."

Maneuvering the car is easier than I thought it would be. It's an almost sensual experience to feel the wheels ground against the pavement. Our driveway is long and sonorous and I'm grateful for the bit of practice before I reach the open road.

"Where did Hope say the market was again?"

"The center of town near the courthouse."

"Do you know how to get there?"

"I think I remember the route from yesterday."

We drive in a comfortable silence, admiring the beauty that surrounds us. We live about twenty minutes outside of the town center and the route to get there is relatively simple.

The town square is busy, but we're able to find a parking spot with relative ease.

"Jean Luc, how do you park the car?"

"Right, so see that spot up there?"

"Yes."

"Turn the car as though you're going to take a turn and then slowly ease between the two cars on either side. But go very slowly and don't worry about taking your time."

I feel abnormally proud of myself as I turn off the ignition. I turn to my husband with a smug grin, "I did it!"

"I didn't doubt you for a second." He pecks me on the cheek before exiting the car.

I love how full of energy the town is today. It's a warmer day than we've seen since we got here, but it's lovely as a cool breeze sweeps in and plays with the red and gold strands of my hair. I reach for my husband's hand as we begin our exploration.

Hope was right: there certainly is a bevy of things to see and buy. We're not used to using money. With Starfleet, you're given credits. With those credits, you're able to replicate or buy almost anything. However, now that we're civilians, we're using paper money. It's funny that even after all these hundreds and hundreds of years, we're still using paper currency. People in the past always imagined that by this stage we'd all be embedded with microchips and when we wanted to purchase something, we'd jut be scanned by big computers. But, from what I can tell other than starships and more aggressive technology, life is pretty much the same.

The first stall that we stop is a large tent with tables and tables adorned with rows and rows of beautiful, fresh vegetables. I love all the colours of the peppers, the fresh lettuces, the zucchinis, baby tomatoes, beets..!

It's silly really, I have a medical degree and I'm confused as to how you purchase vegetables in this setting. I tap the woman standing next to me, "excuse me?"

"Yes, Dearie?" She looks up and smiles at me. This is still something that I have to get used to – being smiled at. I'm constantly struck at how different this life is from the one that I just left. It's as if I'm experiencing culture shock.

"Uh I feel rather foolish asking this, but how do you go about purchasing the produce here?"

"You must not be from around here!"

"No," I blush, "actually we're new in town."

"Well," she softly touches my arm, "welcome. We're glad to have ya! So, Ted, he's the man that owns the stand." She cranes her neck, "Ted!"

Ted is a tall older man, "Hi Bea! Did you see the tomatoes? I think we have a prize winning bunch this years. Luckily the tomato bugs have been good to us and they've stayed away."

"I know Ted, I have a bunch of them right here!" She holds us a bag replete with the reddest tomatoes I've ever seen, "This is, what did you say your name was dear?"

"Uh, Beverly."

"This is Beverly, Ted. She's new in town – is that your husband?"

Jean Luc warmly extends his hand, "Jean Luc."

"Good to meet you." Bea replies as she shakes his hand.

"Well Ted, these two are looking for some nice vegetables, why don't you tell them what's good here."

"Certainly. It's nice to meet you both. Well, since it's mid summer, you're going to get lucky. Everything here is really fresh and this year we have a really great crop. We've even been lucky; even the Ferengi squashes are coming in quite nicely. What are you two in the market for?"

For the next twenty minutes Jean Luc and Ted have a discussion about which are the best vegetables for making a summer ratatouille. We choose enough for a large salad and meals for the rest of the week.

"Well, John, if you're in the market for a nice piece of meat, go on down to Sam's Cuts three stalls down. He raises and slaughters his own cattle. They're raised in really good conditions and they're fed a mix of Bajoran and Human feed, which gives the meat a great, unique flavour. The chicken is great too and if you cook it right it comes apart like butter."

"Thank you, Ted, it was nice chatting with you."

"You too, John, Beverly. Come by next week and welcome to Yakima!" Ted's attention is pulled away the instant that we leave.

We catch up with Bea who introduces us to Laura, Sam's wife. "Laura, this is John Luke and Beverly Picard. They're new in town. In fact, you know what? Beverly is the new doctor that Hope hired!"

"Really!" Laura is a tall woman. She's extremely fit, a testament to her work as a farmer, "well it's so nice to meet you two! Beverly, I think you'll being seeing a lot of us. I have two girls and nearly every winter they come down with the worst cold. Hope's always so great at seeing them right away. I'm so glad she's getting help, though! Poor thing she works like a dog. Now, how can I help you two?"

"Well," Jean Luc begins, "it's been a while since Beverly and I have had a proper steak and we were told that you had the best cuts!"

"Oh I bet Ted told you that! Well, it's the truth. We have a good herd and we keep them disease free and very happy. I assume Ted told you all about our combined feed."

"Yes," he replies, "interesting concept. How did you come up with the idea to mix the feed? Bajoran cattle are so different."

"Well, it's interesting actually. Bajoran cattle require a higher fat content in their diet. Inherently their physiology is quite a bit different than human cattle. They require close to something we call omega fatty acids, but the chain branching is a little different. However, we found when human cattle were given the same food, their immunity was boosted and they seemed to have a more vibrant coat. We haven't yet identified the cause, but all we know is that giving them a bit of Bajoran feed enhances the amino acid content of the food and the bulk of the cattle themselves. We can't give full Bajoran feed, though, because it's not high enough in Arginine so we mix them. But, you are going to love the flavour. Now how were you planning on cooking the meat?"

Jean Luc looks over at me, "we actually hadn't thought of that. We're just getting used to our kitchen, so something that can 'take a little bit of abuse' if you know what I'm getting at."

"Of course, I'll give you a top eye cut. It's not too high in fat and it's great for roasting and cutting into nice big juicy pieces. I think you'll really like it. What you're going to want to do is let the meat come to room temperature before you cook it. So, just leave it out on the counter for about a half hour before you plan to cook it. Set the oven to about 240 Celsius. Once it warms up, put the meat in for about ten minutes. Then reduce to about 190 and let it bake for about an hour. The important thing is when you take it out is to rest it. Don't cut it right away or you'll lose the juice."

"Thank you. We'll do that. We also wanted to buy some breasts of chicken for meals later this week."

Laura turned around, and rummaged in the cooling containers, placing our order in a plastic bag. "Alright, here you go. I threw in about six chicken breasts. Put 'em in the freezer unit when you get home and just thaw 'em out when you want to cook them."

"Thank you Laura."

"My pleasure, John and Beverly. You are a wonderful couple and we're so happy to welcome you to Yakima. Come back and tell me how you enjoyed the meat and maybe we can get you experimenting with some more adventurous cuts once you get settled!"

"Yes, thank you Laura. Give our best to your husband."

"I will. You two take care now!"

We saunter through the market, picking up fresh bread, smelling flowers, and choosing the perfect cheese to go with the wine that Robert sent us.

"I can't get over how warm people are here, I don't think I'm used to it yet."

I laugh, is Jean Luc synthesizing silosilane? "I was thinking the same thing."

He stops and turns to me, "I'm happy here, Beverly. I don't know if I believe in a higher power, but I can't help thinking that my life is too perfect right now for there not to be one."

"Oh, Jean Luc." I walk into him and grab his arm, pulling him close to me. "I love you." And right there in the center of a busy market, my husband Jean Luc Picard kisses me soundly and I can't help but also be convinced that there is a very benevolent power in the universe.


	29. Chapter 29

I sit back in my chair, stomach ready to burst; "Let it never be said that replicator food can in any way compete with actual, home cooking."

"Mmm. I am completely, one hundred percent satisfied. Possibly one of the best meals I've had in the last seven years." Jean Luc looks about as painfully stuffed as I am.

"Agreed. They were right about the Bajoran Feed. Makes me wonder what full Bajoran cattle tastes like! Next vacation: Bajor. First stop: steak house." I laugh.

"Indeed." He smiles as he takes a sip of wine.

"I must say, Jean Luc, I am in total agreement with the 2360 vintage. Much fruitier and a little more floral than the 2365."

"I think we had a longer summer in 2360 and I think my father might have let the grapes ripen a little more."

"Well whatever it is," I take another sip, swish it around my mouth and savour the delicate flavours "it's magnificient."

"Everyone in this town seems lovely, I think the fates chose a good place for you to practice, Beverly."

"Mmm I agree. What a change this is going to be from the Enterprise or even Starfleet medical!"

"Do you regret the lack of variety?"

"No," I reflect, "no I think it will be good to simplify things for now. I've never admitted it before, but remember that incident with Worf a while back when the cargo container crushed his spine?"

"Yes. I remember. He asked Will to take his life." He replied sadly.

"I've never told anyone this, but what happened really shook me. I'm versatile; don't get me wrong Jean Luc. And, I do like a challenge, but I think for now I'll be happy with something a little less… intense."

/

"Hello, I'm Dr. Beverly Picard. My license currently says Crusher, but I inquired two days about getting surgical privileges at County General."

"Let me see here," the floor receptionist scans the console in front of her, "Dr. Picard - I see you right here! Yes. The chief of surgery will be happy to meet with you. If you just take a seat over there, he'll be right out."

The County General hospital is small, coming in at about 100 patient beds and four fully functional operating rooms equipped to do microsurgery, laproscopic surgery, and open surgery. I have to admit that it's been a while since I did open surgery. Actually, I think Worf's procedure was the last major one that I did.

I'll admit I've done some rather off-kilter procedures like when I had to place Odan's symbiotic life form around Will's abdominal aorta. I'm still not sure how that worked completely, but I think that the life form was deriving neural energy off of the hypogastric plexus.

That was odd and my relationship with Odan was even stranger now that I think back on it. I was a little bit like a silly schoolgirl with a fleeting crush. I regret it hugely. I regret how much I fell apart. Most of all I regret how Jean Luc had to pick up the pieces. When I met Odan I thought he was just an attractive male and I was so flattered that he was so taken with me. But, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. And in the end, like a child who touches a hot burner, I quickly withdrew.

"Dr. Picard!" A large Bolian male comes towards me. I've always like Bolians. They're very jolly as a race and their blue skin makes them such a lovely oddity. We had two Bolians on board the Enterprise, and they were both extremely lovely and easy to get along with.

I stand to meet him and extend my hand in greeting, "Beverly, please."

"Beverly, so nice to meet you. My name is Hal Miklis. I have to say that when I received all of your documentation, I was very impressed. It's not every day that such a famous physician graces our halls!"

"You are too kind." I blush.

"Not at all. We're more than welcome to have you come and put in some time in the OR. Of course, you can bring your own patients and we'll also put you on rotation. I must say that you have done some remarkable procedures. You'll have to tell me all about them sometime!"

"Of course!" I'm flattered by this man's enthusiasm, "anytime."

"Well, I've put everything through with human resources and you'll be able to start whenever suits you. I hear that you'll be working with Hope. She's a wonderful physician and surgeon. What she usually does is put her name down on rotation every second month. She'll do a variety of procedures. And then every so often she'll take call. Is that something that you'd be interested in doing?"

I nod my head. "Sounds perfect."

"Wonderful. Well then we'll be in touch when my secretary makes next month's rotation schedule. Now," I see him look behind his back to the clock on the wall, "I really must be going, I have a micro vascular repair to do on a young woman with endometriositis".

"Not a problem."

"I'm sorry that our meeting was so short, but at this point it was just a formality. Good to have you on board and we'll be seeing you soon."

Before I could put another word in the tall Bolian was off. Well, I sighed, that takes care of that!

/

"Jean Luc?" I whisper, "Jean Luc?" The man is out cold. That's another thing that's changed about Jean Luc since we left the Enterprise; the man actually sleeps. In fact, he sleeps better than I do! Now he doesn't have to worry about being woken by hostile alien fire or red alerts.

His body is curled around mine, holding me securely against him. I look over at the chronometer near the bed. It's 4am. He doesn't seem to feel ill. He runs a little warm, but I don't seem to sense anything abnormal. But I can't shake the feeling that I am about to vomit. Tomorrow is my first day working with Hope. It could just be my nerves. Right? If it were dinner, then Jean Luc would feel ill as well. But he's fine. He's sleeping normally and from what I can tell, he hasn't woken up since we fell asleep after making love.

Maybe if I just try to go back to sleep, I'll feel better. I nestle back into Jean Luc's warm embrace.

Nope.

Oh God.

I quickly but quietly get out of bed, using every bit of will power to control my upper oesophageal sphincter until I can reach the bathroom. I unconsciously shut the door behind me and make it just in time to the toilet.

I retch and retch until there's nothing left. I never had morning sickness with Wesley. His was the most agreeable pregnancy. This has to be dinner; something just didn't agree with me. I'm scared to take out the tricorder, but I have to check in order to let Hope know whether or not I can make it in to work tomorrow.

I rummage in one of the sink drawers for the med tricorder. It springs to life with the turn of a button. I select the gastrointestinal option as I wave the scanner purposefully over my stomach.

The readout says that all systems are normal. Nothing outside of normal limits; neutrophil count is normal so no bacterial infection, lymphocytes are not elevated ruling out a virus, and eosinophils are basal, excluding any sort of parasitic infection.

Temperature though is elevated 2 degrees above normal and basal metabolic rate has increased by 300kcal. It can't be. No it can't. We want it so much, but it's just not possible. Is it?

My fingers are shaking as I select the gonadal and reproductive option from the main menu. I carefully wave the scanner over my lower abdomen. Oh. My. God.

HCG: 30mIU/ml. ELEVATED.

We're pregnant! I let out a small cry of relief and happiness. I can't wait to tell my husband.


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you for all your lovely words. I appreciate it so much. Here you go! Much anticipated. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. -Becca **

I sit back against the cool porcelain of the toilet. I'm stunned beyond belief. Yes, we were planning for this; hoping for this. But, I thought it would take longer. We just got married a week ago and I only suppressed the boosters a month ago. Everything's happening so fast and I can barely keep up. I still can't believe it!

It's unusual that a woman my age would get pregnant so quickly. It was easy the first time, but I had been in my early twenties then. It's easy for anyone to get pregnant in their twenties!

This is what we'd been hoping for, right? Yes. This is what we both want. Then, why am I so nervous? I have no reason to be. We both want a family. We both want this to happen. Yes. Beverly, you have nothing to be concerned about.

Tomorrow I'll scan for any abnormalities in the foetus. Like I said, I'm not young anymore. Since all of a woman's eggs are present at the time birth, there is the worry that as a woman ages her eggs are more prone to mutation which will invariably bear problems for the foetus later in the pregnancy. However, in terms of modern science, I am still relatively 'young'. Everything should be OK, but I just want to double check. I still can't believe we're pregnant. I can't seem to grasp that a product of the love that Jean Luc and I share is actually growing inside of me.

_"Hello little one"_ I whisper to my abdomen, _"you're daddy and I are so glad you're here!" _

I have to wake Jean Luc. I don't think this is the kind of news that I can keep to myself. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. And you know what? He drools. Let it be said that the great former Captain of the Enterprise who battled the Borg, made over thousands of firsts contacts, successfully mediated peace treaties between warring factions on distant planets and dealt with the Q continuum in fact drools in his sleep. Some might find it a little crass, but I think it's completely adorable and endearing.

Now, Beverly, how should we go about this? Should I just wake him up and spit it right out? I suppose. I don't really know any other way around it. I can't wait to see his face!

I tread carefully over the slightly creaky wooden floor to our bed.

"Jean Luc," I whisper. No response. I should have known from earlier…

Suddenly I have the cruelest idea.

"BRIDGE TO CAPTAIN PICARD RED ALERT!" I shout in the most commanding voice I can muster.

You should see him! His eyes open immediately, bulging out of their sockets, and he jumps stark naked right out of bed! I didn't even know he could move like that. I can't stop laughing. I can't breath and there are tears coming out of my eyes.

"_Beverly Picard!_" I can see the amusement in his eyes right after the initial shock wears off, "What in devil's name is going on?!"

"Oh Jean Luc!" I still can't form a coherent sentence over my laughter so I just fall back against the covers and I don't even try to contain my amusement. I look up at him and I see that he too is laughing despite all of his efforts to maintain a stern demeanor.

"Let it be said, Beverly Cheryl Picard, that life with you is anything but dull and boring. You just about gave me a heart attack!"

I move closer on the bed to him, my face growing serious. I wipe the tears that are streaming down my cheeks, "I'm sorry, Jean Luc but I couldn't seem to wake you up any other way!"

"I was enjoying a very lovely dream, I'll have you know, starring yours truly. I suppose you know what your punishment is going to be for that very," he starts to kiss me, "very underhanded maneuver."

"Oh," I turn he head, giving him access to his favourite spot under my left ear, "I don't know, what did you have in mind?"

"Hmm. I think I'll have to show you." He continues to kiss his way over my ear and then down my neck, but we can't until I tell him.

"Jean Luc?"

"Hmm..?"

"Jean Luc stop for one second." I say softly.

He pulls away and looks at me, smoothing a lock of hair away from my eyes, "what is it, Beverly?"

I smile. Anticipation is half the fun. "Beverly?" And there's that eyebrow quirk.

"We're having a baby."

I don't think there's a categorized facial expression for the combined look of shock, elation, and apprehension that his registering on his face.

"You…yo-…you're..ummm…. we're… uh… Beverly are you… we're… p..preg..pregnant?"

"Yes, papa." I smile warmly. I still can't believe it. You're here!

And in a second he lets out the most glorious rumble of laughter as he pins me beneath his warm body. He can't stop smiling and as he moves to kiss me. I love feeling his smile on my mouth. It's something special that only I'm allowed to taste. At first his kisses are light, but then he registers the situation and they become more fervent. I open myself to him and his tongue slides into my mouth, tasting me, loving me.

"I love you, Beverly," he whispers softly. And then he does something so beautiful and wonderfully unexpected. He starts at my chin and slowly kisses all the way down my stomach. He stops when he comes to my lower abdomen and whispers in a soft baritone, "_Hello, I love you and we can't wait to meet you." _

And in a moment, I'm lost in him.


	31. Chapter 31

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" His hand lies possessively over my stomach. We're exhausted, sated in the wake of our lovemaking. It's early enough that we can watch the sunrise over the field as we lie in bed.

"Not yet. Soon."

I'm struck by the beauty of the moment as I lay here with my husband watching the morning sky light up in hues of orange, deep pink, and blue. I feel a kiss on my shoulder, "I love you," I hear him whisper.

"I love you, back."

And, like always, once isn't enough.

/

It's my first day at work and I feel like a kid on her first day of school. I remember when Nana would send me off to school at the beginning of every September. She always had this funny tradition of standing me in front of the door and taking a holo-picture of me. She loved to look at those photographs to see how much I changed from year to year. It's certainly a tradition that I'm going to carry on with this little one.

Hope's given me a full schedule today – 30 patients! I have no idea what to expect. But, I'm excited. The office is only about a 10-minute drive from the house. Soon, we'll need to get a second ground car soon so that Jean Luc can make his way to and from the center of town. Since Yakima is a 2-hour and 20-minute drive from UW, he'll take the transporter to and from the campus. But for now, Jean Luc will work from home, making his syllabi, choosing his course material, and writing up his own archaeological findings.

"Okay! As usual I am running late!" I run over to my husband and kiss him briefly on the cheek. Like always, I should have known that Jean Luc wouldn't let me get away that easily. However, I wasn't prepared for the fervour with which he kissed me.

"I love you."

I slow down, calmed by his presence, "I love you. Now, before I get lulled back in by your charms and end up even more _late_, I have to get to work!"

He smiles, "be safe in the car. Look both ways before pulling out, and follow the speed limit, Beverly. I'm serious."

"I will. I will. Bye." I give him one final kiss and run out the door.

/

It's my last patient of the day and I'm absolutely exhausted. Truthfully, for the past seven years, longer really, my days have been tough, but temporally languorous compared to this. On the Enterprise, I pretty much set my own schedule. In the absence of a crisis, I would at most see 10 patients a day and mostly for routine things like plasma burns or contraceptive booster updates. I was completely dependent upon bio beds and advanced medical tricorders for most diagnostic work. To be perfectly honest, it made me a bit of a lazy physician. I lost basic diagnostic skills. I failed to see the value in touching my patients and really working them through and logically coming to a concrete conclusion.

Here in the practice, we have the use of basic medical tricorders, but Hope has made it a point to get away from using an excessive amount of technology. She says that although she's grateful for the state of medical advancement, she thinks that it makes for idle doctors. And she's correct.

My first day at work has been essentially a crash revision course in the rudimentary skills I learned in my first few years of medical school and residency. I'm using fundamental medical devices that have been in use for centuries. Instead of waving a tricorder over my patient to confirm a diagnosis of a suspected otitis media, I now have to use an otoscope and look for signs of rubor or erythema. Similarly, instead of scanning my patients with suspected tonsillitis, I depend on a tongue depressor and a simple light. It's very elemental and it's a system that I find myself enjoying.

We're not dealing with anything out of the ordinary. We have mostly parents coming in bringing their babies for Well-Baby Appointments, teenagers coming in to ask about dermatological issues and birth control, minor scrapes and burns, and simple ailments like earaches, coughs, and colds. I had one expectant mother today come in to ask about different supplements and prenatal vitamins. Traditionally, mothers in this area would go to an OBGYN to keep track of their pregnancy. But here, we do it all.

Hope keeps trying to apologise to me because she thinks I'm bored without what she thinks was a burgeoning, fast paced, challenging career. And to an extent it was – at times. But this – I am relishing this.

It's funny, this morning I came to work and immediately Hope knew I was pregnant. Hope is starting to make me feel a little inferior! I see the way she is with patients; they take to her immediately. She says it's just practice and that soon patients will start to warm up to me. You always think that it's the students who are at the top of the class who aren't going to have any trouble in their career. But Hope wasn't in the top and here she is: one of the best physicians I've seen in a long time.

"Well," I plop myself down in my chair. Hope and I share a small office space. It's just large enough for two desks and two chairs, a small replicator, and bookshelf bearing old fashioned paper copies of Grays Anatomy, the Thieme Atlas, and different diagnostic reference texts.

"What a day!"

"You did great today, Bev. The patients were raving about you! I heard it from Betsy – and she's a reliable source."

Betsey is the front office manager who oversees appointments and hospital bookings. "I still can't believe you, Hope!"

"What d'you mean?"

"Well," I turn in my chair to her, "for one, you run this place on the bare minimum of technology, but you still manage to make diagnoses with the speed and the accuracy of the latest med tricorder model!"

Hope shrugs her shoulders as she takes a bite of a brownie that one of her patients left for her. "It's just practice, Bev. You've been doing other things for the past 20 years since we graduated – I've just been doing this. And, for your first day, you caught on quite fast."

"Still, I'm impressed." I take a piece of the caramel covered brownie, "mmm, these are really good!"

She smirks, "I know! Marla Hutcherson makes the best brownies in the county! Oh! Bev, I can't forget, I have a present for you."

"For me? Hope you didn't have to get me anything! You've already done too much."

Hope rummages in behind her desk to pull out a large paper bag, "open it."

I swallow the last bit of brownie in my hands and very unceremoniously wipe my hands on my pants before attacking the big white bag. It's a lab coat with my married name on it and the picture of a bear holding three balloons in the top right corner, "Oh Hope. It's wonderful. I don't think I've had a white coat with my name on it since the ones we got in medical school! Thank you, but this is too much."

"Nonsense, Bev. Now, we're done for the day, why don't you go home to that gorgeous husband of yours and I'll see you tomorrow."

I give Hope and hug before I leave and I hang my white coat on the door next to hers. I can't wait to get home and tell my husband about my day.

When we were younger, Jean Luc would always ask me about my patients. He's never been truly interested in medicine, but he loved hearing the reasoning that I went through in making a diagnosis. He stopped asking on the Enterprise, and I stopped telling him. But that's one more tradition that I can't wait to resurrect.


	32. Chapter 32

"So not even a biobed?" I sit at one of the chairs that surround the island, watching my husband cook our dinner.

"Not a one! Can you believe it?"

"I thought that all of medicine was biobeds and scanners!"

"To tell you the truth, I was beginning to think so too."

"Dinner smells wonderful Jean Luc. What is it?"

He turns and smiles, "I thought I'd give making risotto a try. We'll see how it ends up in a few moments."

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful. So, how was your day?"

"Well, I started writing my preliminary findings on Galen's research after you left and once I got far enough on that I started doing my own research on texts to use for my two upper level courses."

"Any luck?"

"Mmm.. I've narrowed it down to two and I've submitted them to the department head to get his thoughts."

"Jean Luc, you're never going to believe this but the moment that I walked in this morning, Hope knew I was pregnant."

He turned and smiled, bringing dinner with him. "I still can't believe it, Beverly."

"Me too." I smiled, but then my higher senses take over and I'm reminded that I haven't eaten anything proper all day, "I hope you made a lot of this, Jean Luc – I'm hungry."

He couldn't help but laugh, "Beverly, that is a silly query. Being married to you would demand me making no less than can feed an army."

/

I can't believe that this is my fourth month of pregnancy. I seem to have gotten lucky again this time. Other than a few bouts of vomiting in my first trimester, things are going well. I even feel better. I have more energy. And let's not get started on my libido.

But even in spite of how wonderful I feel, I know something is wrong. I haven't told Jean Luc. I should. But I don't want to worry him. Everything has been going so well with his classes. It's only been a few weeks now, but he loves his students. What he loves the most though, is his relative degree of anonymity. Most of his students either don't know that much about Starfleet or, in some cases, they don't really care to. He was even proud to report to me that only one student knew who he was. I love coming home to him at night and hearing about his lectures and his students. He gets so excited when the class interfaces with him and asks questions. He says it's a completely different thrill than what he was doing on the Enterprise. The Enterprise, he says explored space, but with the students, he's exploring and shaping the minds that are going to shape future generations.

I'm trying to keep positive. I'm trying to stay upbeat and optimistic, but I can't shake this niggling feeling that something's wrong with the baby.

"Beverly," I hear his voice speak softly as I feel his weight settle next to me on the sofa. "Beverly, what's wrong?"

"Jean Luc, it's nothing." I try to throw him off, but my voice betrays me.

"Beverly, it's not nothing. Look at me." I can't. If I look at him then these damn pregnancy hormones will make me cry and I just don't want to worry him! But my tears are unavoidable when he gently tilts my gaze to meet his own.

"Tell me," he implores softly.

"I…I…" I can't help it as a torrent of strong emotion washes over me, "I don't know but I think there's something wrong with the baby."

His hand protectively moves to the small bump on my abdomen, "why do you think there's something wrong?"

"I don't know, I can just feel that something's not right."

I see his posture change. He lets his shoulders down and he slowly draws me near to him. I feel his arms envelop my body and pull me up on to his lap. I can't help it but can't stop crying. "Shhh… Beverly. Let's set up and appointment with a specialist at the hospital. Don't worry. I'm sure we can take care of it. You know as well as anyone that surgeries can be performed inside the womb – if that's even necessary. And who knows this might just be a case of nerves."

I breath in his scent, grounding myself to him, "I know. I'm just nervous."

He once again tilts my gaze to meet his own, "I know. But there's no reason to be. Tomorrow contact the specialist at County General and make an appointment and we'll go together."  
I nod my head and remember an old proverb that Nana used to tell me when I was nervous. She always said: "do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble".


	33. Chapter 33

**For Lindsay, who absolutely can't be kept waiting. -Becca PS: more later. :)**

Hospitals are a source of great confusion for many physicians. When you enter medical school, you look upon the hospital as this great white entity that one day you're going to make a huge, mighty difference in. You dream at night of making that brilliant diagnosis that saves the patient just at the 11th hour and the 59th minute. But, as soon as you're on rotation, the hospital becomes a gnawing creature. Its walls hold no comfort as you try and try to help patients, but in spite of your best efforts you sometimes fail. Successes become few and you realize soon enough that you make mistakes and sometimes people pay the price for it.

When you're an attending, however, the hospital takes on a new role altogether. For once in your life you start to feel comfortable. It's sterile walls become warm, inviting. You start to be at peace with the sterile smell of the OR and the warm, musty smell of geriatric wards.

However, in spite of whatever role the hospital might take on to you as a physician, you're never prepared for the day when you become the patient. I feel right now about the hospital the same way I did about my body when I couldn't walk; I feel betrayed. I clutch my husbands warm, solid hand as if I'm afraid of what these walls will hear once Dr. Simon comes in to discuss her tests and scans.

It seems like forever until her office doors open. In a second, I make a silent promise to myself never to keep my patients waiting in angst like we are now. It has to be one of the worst feelings and sometimes I don't think physicians realize, or they don't care about, how their feet-dragging and dilly dallying impacts their patients.

Dr. Simon is around my age, perhaps a little younger. She's petite, with long brown hair and warm brown eyes. At first I was drawn to her, but right now honestly I'm just a little annoyed. I've been torturing myself for weeks now and I just want to know what's going on.

The small woman comes in, white coat blazing behind her and before she can open her mouth I'm on the attack. "Dr. Simon, I'm a physician myself, please just be honest with me and tell me exactly what the detailed scans revealed." I don't mean to be so terse and cutting, but at this point I've worked myself into such a state and I need to hear the cold, hard facts.

"Dr. Picard," she makes a point to say my name. It's almost sneering, as if she thinks that I'm challenging her. "detailed scans reveal a severe aortic coartication just after the branching of the arch of aorta. It's serious and it's rare. It's not genetic, it appears to have a spontaneous origin-"

"What's the treatment?" I cut her off unceremoniously. I don't need to hear literature quoted. I don't need to hear percentages and facts and figures. Just give me the diagnosis and give me the treatment options.

She collects herself, "I am going to advise and endovascular repair. I'm sure you're aware of the latest stents. Unlike the older models, these are life-time guaranteed – if the procedure is done correctly – and it will be – the baby will have no trouble with the stent later in life."

"Will you be doing the repair?"

"No. We have a foetal vascular specialist who will be able to perform the procedure. It's minimally invasive. We'll go in through-"

"The belly button, yes I'm familiar with the procedure. I'm sorry."

Dr. Simon smiles, "it's Okay, Beverly." She says my name softly.

Jean Luc has been quiet for through the whole exchange. I squeeze his hand and look over at him.

He's trying to be brave. This man has taken on countless enemies and he's even faced assimilation by the Borg. He's no stranger to adverse situations, but the thought of his child in danger brings him shuddering to his knees. I don't mean to but I sit and stare at him, marveling that such a wonderful man could exist and that I'm privileged enough to call him mine. I squeeze his hand, "Jean Luc?"

He's roused from his reverie, "Dr. Simon, is there at risk to Beverly in doing this procedure?"

She looks back at me, "No. There is no risk to the mother. It's a very safe operation, Mr. Picard. I assure you."

"When's the soonest it can be done?" He asks tentatively.

Dr. Simon looks back at me, "I'm going to have to say next week at the latest. The problem is that the narrowing is so severe that it's cutting off blood supply to other vital organs. If we let this go anymore, then we're going to risk underdevelopment of the gastrointestinal and biliary system as both are being slowly starved of an adequate blood supply."

I run through the names of the physicians in my head, "It's Dr. Portland who'll be doing the operation, correct?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"I operate here twice a month. I've seen his name on the schedule."

"Yes. I'll contact his secretary, Annie, and she'll give you a call this evening to tell you when he's available. On a final note, do you want to know the sex of the baby?"

I look at my husband, "do you, Jean Luc?"

"I… uh… I don't know." He's still nervous and I can't blame him. So am I.

We've been assured that everything is going to go well. But, the thing I've learned over the years with my own medical career is that you can never make assurances. Even with the state of medicine as it is. Even with the inventions of numerous fancy and highly technical medical devices, nothing is fool proof. You should never tell a patient or a family member with 100% certainty that a procedure or operation is going to succeed. Because in the end, God forbid it doesn't.

"No," I respond, "not yet." It's our one last surprise.

"Alright, well. Annie will be in contact with you this evening. Go home, get some rest, and please don't worry. I'm sure that this will work out in the end."

"I hope you're right." I feel my husband – my rock, my strength, my love – I feel his hand tugging mine up out of my seat and to the door. We've dealt with far more daunting situations, but somehow, this feels much worse.


	34. Chapter 34

I've never understood the instinctively universal knee jerk reaction of nearly all species in any time of duress to turn to prayer. I'm a scientist and as such I have been raised, bred, and taught to believe in the enduring power of the seeable and the known. Silent prayers to a conjectured deity used to have no meaning to me. But now as I sit in the car, silently driving home with my husband, I can't be persuaded not to pray, hoping that some benevolent, unseen, guiding force of the universe will somehow let everything be okay.

"Jean Luc?"

We haven't spoken since we left the office, but we also haven't stopped holding hands. I'm usually not this frail in the face of adversity. Heck, I risked my life flying into a sun to prove an untested theory! And a hundred other instances on the Enterprise proved that I truly am anything but feeble. But, the thought of this baby being in danger brings me to my knees.

"Beverly?" His voice is soft as he looks over to me. I don't answer right away so he gives my hand a heartening squeeze, refocusing me and bringing me back to him.

"I know it's a relatively simple procedure. I did one similar about 8 years ago on an expectant mother much like myself. I think we're going to be OK." I'm saying it for my benefit as much as I'm saying it for mine.

"I know, by the way Dr. Simon was talking about it, it sounds like a simple hernia repair!" His voice becomes light, airy and I smile.

"Yes. She did, didn't she?"

"To tell you the truth, Beverly, I'm just glad it's not worse." He lets go of my hand as he turns the car down our driveway. "I'm glad that they can fix him. I just hope that everything is really as simplistic as she says it's going to be. Do you know of this Dr. Portland? Is he good?"

I rub my eyes and my hand wanders unconsciously to my belly, "I've not heard bad things. I don't think I've ever met the man. Like I said, I've only seen his name on the OR rotation schedule. But, with doctors, you'd know if someone was bad; the nurses would tell you or you'd hear them gossip. And though I don't really listen to hospital gossip, I think that we can be assured that he'll do a good job."

"Beverly, be honest with me, do you want to go somewhere else? Do you want to go back to San Francisco to Starfleet Medical? Would you be more comfortable with this option." He sounds concerned; he'd do anything for me and this little baby.

"No. I thought about that, but I trust these doctors. They're not Starfleet, but they're all talented. I've seen their work and I'm impressed. No. We'll stay here and go with the original plan."

The car comes to a slow halt in front of our home and Jean Luc slowly turns off the ignition. I smile, remembering something he said, "so, you think it's a he?"

"Well, I know we've talked about it before and I know you want to wait until he's born, but I can't help but think it's a little boy."

I grab his hand again, "is that what you want?"

He smiles warmly, "I'd be happy with anything Beverly. Even if five months from now we find out that you're giving birth to a kitten, I'd be satisfied. I'm just happy that you're here, that we're here, and that he or she or kitten there is ours."

Every day I can't help but keep falling deeper in love with my husband. I never thought it was possible to love someone this much. But right now, sitting in the car parked outside of our house, I'm once again overwhelmed. "I love you, Jean Luc Picard."

His right hand leaves the warm grasp of my hand and slides up my arm, halting its trajectory on my cheek. I lean into his touch, savouring the warmth and the contact. "Beverly Picard, I don't know what I've done to deserve this much happiness. I don't know what strange cosmic power I've appeased to be lucky enough to call you my wife. Know this, I love you and we'll get through this. I know it."


	35. Chapter 35

"Mom, do you need anything? Are you staying overnight?"

I haven't seen Wes in a good three months. He came to see us a month after we got married, when I first learned that I was pregnant. But, his schedule at the Academy is demanding now that he's in his final year and getting ready to graduate.

"No," I walk over to him, kiss his cheek and muss his hair, "it's an outpatient procedure. I know that I've already said it, but thank you for coming, Wes. It means a lot to us both that you're here."

I love my son's smile. When he smiles, his face illuminates and he looks younger and unburdened, "no problem mom. I want to be here for you and the Captain."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Jean Luc smile and I hear a small laugh. I don't need to ask him why he's laughing; he still finds it funny that Wes won't call him by his first name.

Inherently Wes realizes his gaffe, "I meant Jean Luc. Sorry Cap-" he smiles and hangs his head in defeat, "I just can't get used to not calling you Captain!"

Jean Luc chortles and shakes his head in amusement. "Would professor be better?"

"No," he laughs, "I'll get used to it. But to tell you the truth, you used to scare me on the Enterprise! You're the Great Captain Picard – you're a legend at the academy! It's still surreal that you're not that same man anymore… I mean…"

I wrap my arms around Wes in an effort to calm him, "well, he's still great." I whisper as I lean into him.

"Oh goodness!" Wes' head falls into his hands, "I'm digging myself into such a hole. You know what I meant, Cap-Jean Luc."

I love the sound of Jean Luc's laughter. It's been too long since I've heard it with all the hullaballoo surrounding the baby. I'm glad to hear it again. His laughter brings warmth to me and our home.

For so long, I never thought I'd hear it. He stopped laughing so much when I got engaged to Jack. When we'd see one another when Jack wasn't around, he was guarded. And then when Jack died, his guilt buried him so deep that getting him to smile at all was a herculean feat. On the Enterprise, he was serious. Even when we spent time alone together, he still wouldn't really smile. But now, Jean Luc laughs and he beams at me. He's vocal and expressive in our loving. He lets me know, without hesitation, that he loves me and he cherishes me.

"It's alright, Wes. At ease!" He musters his best command voice. I can just hear that voice now – scolding this little one when he's been naughty. And what a voice it is! It's imposing and compelling. When he goes all out, it can be quite terrifying.

"What time do you have to be there again?"

I look at the chronometer, "Annie said to be there at 1400 hours."

"Mom, are they going to sedate you?"

"When I spoke with Dr. Portland, he said only a light anesthesia." In fact, I usually don't sedate patients for this small of a procedure. A light numbing around the area is really all that's necessary since there's nothing really to see. But, I understand where Jim Portland is coming from on this so I didn't say anything. I think part of the reason he wants me sedated is that he's a little intimidated. He knows that if I'm awake I'll be silently scrutinizing every move he makes and that might make him nervous.

"How long will the procedure take?"

"It's quick; only 45 minutes."

"Will you stay tonight, Wes?" I love it when Wes stays with me. It's comforting to be able to keep an eye one him and be visually assured of his safety and wellbeing.

"Do you want me to, Mom?"

Jean Luc glanced at me and answered before I could, "we always want you to stay, Wesley. We love you and we cherish when we can spend time with you. We understand, though, if you have to get back."

Wesley knows that Jean Luc is different now. He knows that he no longer has to be cautious with his emotions. But I think he was unprepared to hear Jean Luc say that he loved him. As if to assure him, "I do love you, Wes and I'm sorry I don't say it enough."

I've never seen Wesley cry, but I can tell that he's close. So, he just shakes his head and smiles. "I'll stay," he says.


	36. Chapter 36

This is the second time this year that I've been a hospital patient. You would think that my stint in Sickbay 5½ months ago would have prepared me for this. But this time, it's different. This time it's not my life that's at risk, but the life of my child.

Hope, Gregg, and the boys have come to sit with Jean Luc and Wes during the procedure. Since we moved to Yakima, Hope and her family have been a constant force in our lives. Gregg is a history teacher at the Yakima high school so he and Jean Luc have plenty in common. They've become friends and I grateful for that. Since Jack died and Walker disappeared from our lives, Jean Luc hasn't had – other than Will to a limited extent – any true male companionship. Now, though, he and Gregg are able to discuss their students, texts, history, teaching methods… Hope and I have a good relationship as colleagues and friends. She's a lot like Deanna, when I think about it. We have plenty in common and conversation is easy.

The boys find Wes fascinating. They always ask about him. I had only seen Wesley with the children on the Enterprise. Very early in our journey, all the children on the Enterprise were abducted by a non-fertile alien species that planned to "adopt" them and integrate them into their own families. Wes was the oldest 'child' in that group of children. I remember being so proud of him with the way that he watched over everyone. He risked his own safety to bring them back to the Enterprise and their parents. He's always loved children and I can't wait to see him with this little one. I know kitten here is going to adore his big brother and I know for a fact that Wes will be a good influence.

I smile to myself; what strange experiences we had on the Enterprise! That time in our life is so far removed from what we're living now. But, even in the midst of its excitement and the first contacts, I don't miss that life. I don't think that Jean Luc misses it either. It was good for a time. It enriched our lives at the time, molded us as individuals, broadened our minds, and made us wiser. But now, now we're happy to live a peaceful life. We're happy to simply enjoy the other without worrying that the next mission could cost us our lives. And, we're content not to have to hide our love for one another.

I see Hope round the corner and enter my room, "I just spoke with Jim and I basically threatened him and told him that if he didn't do a good job, I'll tell Hal he cheats at Parrises Squares!"

It's good to have Hope here. Jim Portland's allowed her to be present during the procedure. I wont be aware of her in the room, but knowing that she's there gives me a modicum of comfort. Not before long, I'm being transported into the OR.

I'm a sucker for medical history and I love juxtaposing ancient medical practices with newer ones. Anesthesia is of particular interest to me. Before 2350, being sedated was a relatively big deal that involved large machinery, tubes, and masks. In extreme cases, it still is. But now, especially with smaller procedures, the drugs that are being used do not cause respiratory depression, negating the necessity for a breathing tube.

I enter the familiar room and I feel the squeeze of Hope's hand. Without much preamble, I feel the cool metal of the hypospray at my neck and with a familiar hiss my world fades to black.


	37. Chapter 37

The first thing I feel is a warm hand holding mine.

"Beverly," his whisper tickles the short baby hairs on my neck and I grin as I come back into consciousness. I look up and see my husband standing over me. He smiles when he sees me open my eyes, "hi".

He looks tired, but relieved and I take that as a good sign before I ask him our question, "So?"

"So, Dr. Portland said he was successful in place the stent and that we're out of the woods."

Relied washes through me and I lazily caress circles around my stomach, "thank Heavens."

His big hand covers mine over my baby bump, "indeed," he breathes.

/

It's been a week since the procedure and my husband and I are experiencing what can only be likened to the Vulcan sensation of Pon Farr – before the actual coupling. We've been cautious ever since the baby was diagnosed. Before the surgery, Jean Luc was scared to touch me. I've had to convince him over and over again that it's OK to touch me – he won't hurt the baby. Still, though, I sense hesitancy.

But today marks 12 days since the surgery and I'm getting agitated. I don't think I've ever desired any man as much as I desire Jean Luc. We're still newly weds and our overt romantic relationship is still relatively young. Up until two weeks ago, we've made love every morning – at least twice and every evening. Hope kept reminding, with a knowing smile, that I looked tired. The truth is I'd rather make love with my husband than sleep. I crave the pleasure that he gives me. When we couple, we do so passionately. The rush that I get from his touch is overwhelming. I feel a constant desire to be with him, to taste him, to love him.

I got home from work this evening and Jean Luc was in his study grading his recent round of exams. I tried to be subtle about it. I tried romantic and underhanded and sweet, but I still sense that he wants to let me be; he doesn't want to jostle the baby. Just so that I could assure him, I talked to Dr. Portland over the comm. He guaranteed me that I can resume sexual activities without hesitation.

You could cut the sexual tension in the study with a knife. My back is to him and I am trying desperately to control myself. I try focusing on a journal article about genome sequencing in Bajoran-human hybrids, but it's no use.

Finally I can't take it anymore and I turn my chair in towards him, "Jean Luc?"

"Yes, Beverly?"

I clear my throat, "we need to have sex. Now. I mean it Jean Luc! I'm going crazy here! The Howard hormones are bad enough and on top of them I'm pregnant!"

I stand up, walking over to where he's sitting. I'm expecting a fight over this. I'm expecting a whole litany of excuses as to how he's afraid to hurt the baby. But, when I reach him all I see is a deep hunger in his eyes. He stands slowly and envelopes in his arms. I'm standing close enough to feel his arousal.

I get one last, "Beverly, are you sure it's safe?"

I give him a crooked smile, "I'm pos-" But I don't even finish my sentence as his lips descend on mine. He's forceful and aggressive for which I am grateful. After two weeks I don't need votives and rose petals; I just want him. Peripherally, I feel my back hit the bookshelf and books tumble off to the side. I break the kiss with a giggle at how much he wants me. Our separation, however, is short lived.

I feel his hands all over my body. They're moving so fast that I can't pinpoint their location until I feel them at the waistband of my pants. The fastener is quickly unhitched and as soon as their open I feel his hands on me.

"Unngh, Jean Luc!" He's insistent, though. He's starving. He wants to taste all of me, but he's not allowing me to do the same. I brace myself against the bookshelf as my climax falls over me.

He keeps going but it's too much. Every nerve ending in my body is aroused and I just want to feel him. We're playing by his rules, this evening though. Another orgasm rips through me and my knees give out. He wastes no time though in picking me up. Trying to kiss him while he's carrying me upstairs is too hard and neither of us can wait so we settle for the couch.

Before he can stop me, my hands are on him, tugging and pulling at his pants and shirt. He's down to his boxers. Good enough. I pull him closer once again, but he pushes me down and covers my body with his own. It's a strange battle for dominance, and one that I am blissfully losing. My trousers were left in the study. Now his hands make quick work of my T shirt and bra. His boxers are the last to go and at once a force stronger than gravity pulls us together. There's no more preamble and I instantly feel him enter me.

We stop for a moment and he smiles at me. He hasn't moved yet and I'm getting impatient. I thrust against him in an effort to goad him to progress. He's not paying attention. "You're beautiful," he whispers as he opens my mouth to him. I slide my hands down his body and press him into me. I want all of him.

Suddenly the urge becomes too much for him, even in spite of his finely honed control. Within mere seconds I feel a third orgasm build. I tell myself to hold off. I tell myself that this is for him. But none of it works and I'm brought screaming over the edge and he tumbles down with me.

I feel the gallop of his heart beat against my breast. I'm smiling. I'm far from sated, but for this second, I'm satisfied simply to be physically joined to my husband.

"I missed you," he whispers.


	38. Chapter 38

We're seven months today and I can't believe it.

"Everything looks great, Beverly. The stent is holding up nicely. I'm happy with your blood pressure – whatever you're doing is certainly keeping your numbers low. It's good news for you and the baby, as you know." Dr. Portland looks satisfied with himself as he looks over the ultrasound.

"Beverly, I know you don't want to know the gender, but you're going to be able to figure it out by looking at the ultrasound. Do you two still want to see the baby?" And he's right. Unlike in the 21st and 22nd century where ultra sounds where images were picked up by simple Doppler which revealed a blurry image, modern ultrasound is crisp and clear and reveals almost the exact features.

"We want to wait" a soft baritone asserts.

"Alright, well everything looks great! See you two in another three weeks!"

/

"Jean Luc is something going on?" I have a nagging feeling that he's up to something again.

"No. No. Nothing at all." He brushes me off casually.

"So, we're just having dinner with Hope and Gregg – you're not planning anything right?" I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that he's lying to me.

"Beverly, when have you ever known me to be subversive?"

"Jean Luc, if you're telling the truth then why is Hope's house dark?"

"Maybe we're eating outside."

"It's January!"

He says nothing as he ushers me into Hope's home. He's trying to hard not to smile and just before I ask him –

"SURPRISE!"

I nearly have a heart attack as the foyer lights spring to life and I see what must be fifty people and even more gifts all crammed into Hope's home. I hate surprises, but I'm touched that so many of my hospital colleagues, patients, and friends have thrown me such a lovely baby shower. They've provided almost everything from strollers, hand embroidered baby blankets, toys and stuffed bears, to gender-neutral onesies and mobiles.

/

"Shhhh… Jean Luc. Come back. Just one more time! Please!" It's still dark outside and I'm loath to let him go.

"Beverly Picard! You are absolutely insatiable! I can't I have to get to work!"

I grab his hand before he leaves the bed and I pull him back, "just one more time. Please! Be quick about it."

I don't have to beg anymore as his lips open mine. A second later he concedes with a grin, "dammit, Beverly, you know I can't say no to my very pregnant wife."

/

"OW!" Is the one lingering thought that hits my mind as I'm woken from a semi sound sleep. Sleep never comes easily to me these days. Junior has an odd sleep schedule. When he's up, he's pressing my bladder or moving around like he's playing a round of Velocity.

It's my ninth month and my due date is 3 weeks away. I'm familiar with false alarms. This week, I've had four. It's a 30-minute drive to the hospital and I don't want to wake my Jean Luc if I'm not 100% certain that the baby's coming. I keep a medical tricorder near my bed. I've programmed a labour and delivery setting which tells me exactly if I'm indeed having Braxton Hicks contractions, or if it's just normal cramping.

I look over at the chronometer. It's 0300 hours. As I said, I've been woken up by Junior before, but this time it feels different. I disentangle myself from Jean Luc's warm embrace and I reach for my tricorder. The pain comes again and I can't help but think that these are contractions.

They are. It can't be.

"Jean Luc!" I forget; the man sleeps like a rock.

"Jean Luc!" I shove his chest. Goddammit Jean Luc! Wake up!

One last time and with a more forceful poke, "JEAN LUC PICARD!"

"Wha.. what? Beverly what's wrong?"

"You're losing your touch old man." On the Enterprise, he could be up and alert within 50 seconds. Now, it takes exceptional effort to rouse him out of a sound sleep.

"Hey! Hey!" a groggy baritone interjects, "not that old."

"Jean Luc we have to get to the hospital."

There's a small silence as he registers what's going on. "Hospital?"

"Yes, hospital."

We've packed a bag and gone through exactly what we'll do when the baby comes. We haven't had to implement it yet though. I'm expecting flustered madness as we make the mad dash to the car.

"Right." He jumps out of bed. "I've got the bag let's go!"

"Jean Luc!" I'm laughing at him.

"What is it Beverly? We've got to go!" He's exasperated, wondering why I'm not as eager to get going as he is.

"Put your trousers and a shirt on."

He looks down at himself.

"Right."


	39. Chapter 39

"Now, do we have everything?" I love seeing Jean Luc this giddy!  
Just as I suspected, we had some minor hiccups in getting out the door. It's silly really, but the minor hiccups primarily centred on me not being able to decide which pair of yoga pants to wear. "Yes. Did you comm. Wes to let him know?"

"Yes. I sent him a text." It's so cute to see him this excited. He's practically jumping up and down.

I start to do a mental count of the contractions. According to the car's clock, they're 20 minutes apart which puts me in the early stages of labour. I roll my eyes as the next wave of pain overtakes me; it's going to be a long, painful day.

Normally, the early stages of labour aren't traumatic. Like now, my contractions aren't terribly painful. They're uncomfortable, but truly not unbearable. Usually, this phase of labour happens over the course of a day or a few weeks. Though I didn't realize it at the time, the most probable reason behind so many of my false alarms was the early and gradual dilation of my cervix.

In women who have had a normal pregnancy, it's not usually requisite to head to the hospital as early as we are now. However, this hasn't been a normal pregnancy and we want to take every precaution. I told Hope that I wanted a foetal monitor during the entire duration labour. I want to know immediately if anything happens during the birth.

What I'm worried about is how well the stent is going to hold up upon the closure of the baby's ductus arteriosus, the foetal shunt between the pulmonary artery and the descending arch of aorta. In fact, it's just 2 cm proximal to where the stent was placed. I spoke with Jim Portland about it; he assured me that there was only a 10% chance of disruption to the stent, but still I want to be sure.

I'm having Hope deliver the baby. I trust her and she's been monitoring the pregnancy since she found out that I was pregnant. Moreover, it's important for me to have one person who I'm close to present during the delivery. When I gave birth to Wes, I had a resident perform the delivery. Oh it was so mortifying! Since Starfleet Medical is essentially a very exclusive teaching hospital, I must have had ten interns and two residents present during the delivery. And the worst part is that I knew some of them from younger years. It was possibly one of the most humiliating experiences of my life! This time, things are going to be different. County General does not take residents or interns and the only physician who's going to be in the room is Hope.

"Did you call Hope?"

How did he know I was thinking about that? "How did you know I was thinking about Hope?"

"I didn't," he grabs my hand, "but I knew you were thinking about something and I guessed you were thinking about the birth. You had that far off look."

"Yes. I called her while you were getting dressed. She's on her way as well. In truth, she really doesn't need to be there when we get there – but she said she wanted to be."

County General appears in the distance and suddenly the reality that we're going to be having a baby today is becoming real. "Hey," I turn to my husband and squeeze his free hand, "we're having a baby."


	40. Chapter 40

It's been 7-hours and each hour the contractions have gotten worse and worse and closer and closer together. So far the foetal monitor has been normal. I know that some women would have qualms, but I'm a firm believer in the comforts of modern medicine as I accept small amounts of pain medication.

"You're 7 cm dilated, Bev. Just a little bit longer. We're going to start an IV with fluids just to be on the safe side."

"Mmm," I nod my head. Another contraction hits me and I can't do anything but lean back into the solid form of my husband. I try to focus on the soft circles he's rubbing on my back. I feel the heat radiating off of his chest and his breath on my neck. He holds out his hand to me and I grasp it in a death grip. The poor man's not going to have the use of his fingers after today; I'll have crushed every single one of them.

I barely feel the IV cannula enter my arm. "How much?" I croak out.

Hope looks up and smiles, "You're almost at the magic number – you're at 9.8 cm!"

I remember this part from my last pregnancy and thing's are progressing about the same. A dull pain sits in my lower back and I feel nauseated. I'm hot and I can feel beads of sweat trickle down my temples before Jean Luc smoothes the away. He kisses my forehead and tells me he loves me and that he's proud of me. I don't hear his exact words, but the sound of his voice is comforting.

"I need to push!" I grit out.

"Not yet! Beverly Don't push yet! Just a few more minutes. Just breathe."

I'm exceedingly frustrated. I've been given a mild painkiller, but I'm still in agony. I try breathing, but it's no use. I try squeezing my poor husband's bruised metacarpals, but nothing's helping.

"Okay, Bev!" Hope looks up from the bottom of the delivery table and smiles, "Push!"

I feel my husband press up against my back and I lean into the movement. It's hard work and I can tell that I'm crying. Giving birth is one of the most oxymoronic experiences that a woman will ever endure. It's incredibly beautiful and life affirming, but it's messy and slightly undignified. But I don't care. Not right now. I just want to meet this little human and get this over with!

Once I start pushing, I can feel the baby move down the birth canal. Since it's my second baby, the process is a little easier. The worst part is going to be the shoulders.

"I see the head!" I give out a small whimper of relief and collapse in exhaustion into my husband.

"Not yet, Bev. We're not done yet! Give me another big push."

I'm tired and I just want this to be over. My emotions are all over the place, "I can't," I whine.

"Yes you can," I hear the soft encouragement of my husband as he props me up and positions me for the next series of efforts. I muster what energy I have left and lean into the movement.

"Head's out! You're almost done, Bev. Give me one more."

I repeat the effort, mustering strength from an unknown source.

"Bev, if you give me one more big one then we can be done! The shoulders are in position."

The end is in sight and that in itself gives me the energy for one last monumental push. I feel a tugging and a wave of overwhelming discomfort as I cry out in pain. Once the shoulders are out, Hope guides the baby easily the rest of the way.

I collapse against Jean Luc in a combination of utter contentment and exhaustion. I look over at Hope as I hear a loud, lusty cry ring through the delivery room and it's then that I can't help but cry myself. I fear wet hot tears on my neck as I look up my husband. His eyes are bloodshot, wet, and completely puffy as his tears meander down his cheeks.

"Jean Luc, Beverly," Hope whispers as she brings over the crying infant, "meet your daughter."


	41. Chapter 41

In this moment, our world condenses to this small bundle cradled in my arms. I smile as I smooth my long fingers over her light ginger tufts. Her eyes follow the movement of my hand and I'm lost in her. Secondarily, I feel a light tugging on my womb to indicate the delivery of the placenta. Then the buzz of the dermal regenerator quickly heals my stretched and swollen tissues. In the corner of my eye I see a nurse clean away the mess born of the delivery. Finally, I feel movement at the base of the bed as my legs let down are allowed to rest from their perch.

And in an instant, we're alone with her.

I don't know how long it's been since either of us has spoken. We can't help but stare and marvel at this tiny new life. We can't help but be struck by the fact that she's the fulfillment of a dream we've both harboured for 25 years.

He kisses my cheek and tentatively moves his hand to touch his daughter. "She's perfect," he says, his voice softer than a whisper.

Now, her small eyes follow the trajectory of his hand, "she's got your eyes," I kiss his cheek, tasting the ever-flowing moisture that dances down from his handsome, expressive grey-green eyes.

"And your hair!" He adds with jubilance.

"And my hair," I repeat softly.

"We don't have a name for her." I say as I place her in the arms of her father. I'll never forget the way that he looked at her in this moment. His cradle is soft, but sure. He supports her tiny head with one big hand as her tiny body lies across his arm. He captivates me.

"Hello little one," and in that moment, the only two people who exist in the universe are Jean Luc and his baby girl. She looks up at her father and raises her little arm in an unconscious movement. He smiles and gingerly takes her tiny hand in his own, admiring the delicate petite fingers and thin fingernails. "She's…" his grin spreads even wider, "she's just as beautiful as her mother," he tears his gaze from her for a moment, "whom I love with everything in me."

His tenderness is doing nothing to help the abatement of my tears. I lean over and kiss him softly, "I love you." I look back at our daughter, "we need a name."

He's silent for a time, letting his thoughts percolate.

"Saoirse. It's an ancient Celtic name that means 'freedom'."

I couldn't think of a name that was more appropriate for our daughter. Almost a year ago now, Jean Luc and I freed ourselves from the constraints and the burdens of decades of guilt and unhappiness. Finally, we allowed ourselves to love one another fully. And our love bore our daughter. I can't think of anything more perfect

"Yes. Saoirse."

I hear a knock at the door followed by a familiar voice, "Mom?"

I look up and smile as I see my son, "Wes! You made it."

Like the wonderful boy he is, he brings a bouquet of camellias and sets them near the bed, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for the birth. I didn't get your message before PT this morning."

He comes around to kiss my cheek, "Wes, this is Saoirse."

Watching the look of wonder overtake my son's face is something that I'll always cherish. I let myself fully rest against Jean Luc and I bask in the contentment of being surrounded by my perfect family.

"Can I, uh, can I hold her?"

"Of course."

"She's so small," he whispers as he supports her head. Wesley can't break himself away from the spell that this little person has woven. She wriggles her little body into her brother's tender grasp and succumbs to sleep. Not minutes later, I correspondingly fall into a deep slumber born of exhaustion, contentment, and the love that envelops me.


	42. Chapter 42

Traditionally, childbirth was considered to be a traumatic event. Many years ago, women would take months off after the event in order to rest and recuperate. However, all that really changed in 2280 with the first rudimentary dermal regenerator. Almost 100 years later, I'm still impressed with the technology. Not only is the regenerator able to practically erase minor scrapes, burns, and superficial cuts; it's also able to instantaneously speed the regeneration of the tissues and retighten the muscles in the vagina post delivery. I'm reminded to be thankful of this technology this morning as I open my eyes this morning and begin to move with a minimal of pain and discomfort.

My movement, however, is halted by a large figure holding me in this small bed. It's funny how he and I always assume the same position in sleep. We can fall asleep in one position, but every morning I consistently wake up cradled against his body. His right arm drapes possessively under my breast and his nose nestles in the crook of my neck. It's been this way since our first night together on the Enterprise.

I smile in contentment as I'm reminded of yesterday's events. I feel a rustling as my husband draws my body closer to his. I feel his warm breath on my neck, "good morning," I whisper as my lean my head back to kiss him.

"Indeed," I hear before his lips claim my own.

I pull away with a silly grin plastered on my face, "Let's get the kitten and go home."

/

"Beverly, who in devil's name constructed this nefarious contraption? OW!" he retracts his hand immediately in pain.

I can't help but laugh at the scene before me as Jean Luc struggles to strap Saoirse into the car seat. I tap his shoulder lightly, "here, let me try." You can't blame him; the car seat is an unknowable device to even to seasoned parents.

"I think this piece goes in between her legs…" There, that looks right. Okay now, do her arms go though these pieces? Yes. Let's try that. "And I think her arms go through this and fit together like that! Got it!"

He looks a little sheepish once I get my head out of the car.

"Maybe we should contact the inventor of the car seat; perhaps they could make some modifications to the shield harmonics to give us an advantage against the Borg. Honestly, Beverly, does a child's seat have to be so complicated?"

I'm laughing at his consternation over a simple apparatus, "Oh Jean Luc. At least now we know how the darn thing works!" I move in to kiss his cheek, "let's get home!"

/

I don't think I've ever seen Jean Luc so focused on anything in his life. I wish that I had a holo camera to capture the image of him on the drive home. His hands clutch at the wheel with such fervour that his knuckles are turning white. We're completely alone on the road in the early morning, but he keeps checking the rear view and side mirrors. And, I don't think I've ever seen him drive so slowly.

I don't want him to know that I'm laughing at him, but I think eventually he figures it out, "Beverly, I'm focused. You're distracting me."

"Jean Luc, we're alone on the road. I think you can relax."

He shakes his head, "we can never be too careful. It's her first ride in the car and I'm nervous and I just want to be on the safe side! "

I reach across and touch his cheek, "and I love you for it."

/

The wooden stairs creak slightly as we silently take our daughter up to her room. We finally got the room just the way we wanted it the week before the birth. Robert gave us the Picard family crib that had been in the family for 5 generations. I love that Jean Luc's family has so many heirlooms and traditions. My family never really had any traditions or heirlooms that were passed down. The only real 'heirloom' that Nana's kept is a candle encased in a rudimentary wrought iron holder. She always has the candle lit and something about it always makes me a little uneasy.

I must say that when I first saw the crib I was taken aback; it is rather grandiose. It's quite large and made of a dark hewn cherry wood. What I loved about it though are all the ornate and meticulous carvings on either headboard. If you look at it closely you'll be able to pick out the shapes of majestic storks, intricately depicted flowers, little mice and ducklings, and there are even figures from children's fables.

We chose to paint the walls a cream yellow. We had no idea if we were having a boy or a girl. I smile when I think about how convinced Jean Luc and I were that we were having a little boy. I don't think Jean Luc is disappointed, though. I know by the way he's cradling her that she's the apple of his eye. I can see him as a fiercely protective father. I shake my head; I wonder how many arguments and slammed doors that might bring in a few years.

No.

No, this house will never be one of conflict and disgruntled teenagers. Not if we both can help it. This house will be filled with happiness, patience, understanding, and most of all, love.

I look down as I we step further into the room, grinning in recognition at the paint splatter that we have yet to remove. Do you want to know how that got there? My husband surprised me in a moment of boyish banter by painting my arm. I don't think I've ever heard of someone who is 47 years old pull such a juvenile and boyish stunt. I was so shocked! He was laughing so hard though, telling me that was payback for the cruel way I woke him up to tell him about the kitten here. I couldn't help but be amused. I tried to get him back, but I was too big to move as quickly as the situation mandated, so I just flung my paintbrush at him. I'm still continually surprised that this convivial, loving, spontaneous man is the same person I met on the Enterprise 8 years ago. Yes, he's still Jean Luc Picard, but he's happy and buoyant - that I know for sure.

I look on at my wonderful husband as he gently puts our daughter in her crib. She's still sound asleep as we look down on her, still not believing that she's real.

"Come," I whisper, "let's get some rest."


	43. Chapter 43

**A big thank you to Lindsay, as always, for being so lovely and saying such nice things. You certainly make this an enjoyable writing experience. Thank you again :). -Becca **

I remember when Wes was born, I was still in my residency and I was working extremely long, tiring hours. Jack was never home and even if he was, childcare wasn't his first priority. He was heavily invested in his Starfleet career and tenacious in his goal to make command. I enormously regret that time; I regret that I was separated from my son so much. I regret that I didn't have much of myself to give my little boy.

There was a childcare facility at the Starfleet satellite hospital that I was positioned at. In the morning I would leave Wes with the childcare specialists while I went to work. The most I'd be able to see him during the day was for a maximum of 20 minutes over my lunch break, or whenever I wasn't being called to a patient. The only time that Wes and I really had together – and I mean really had - was when we were on the Enterprise. I think that our separation during his early childhood made it that much easier for me to leave him that year when I went to head up Starfleet Medical. I don't want that for Saoirse. I want don't want her to be separated from us. Luckily, now we're in a position where we can afford to be liberal and choosy with our schedules.

"So," he has is back turned to me as he stands in front of the kitchen sink. He's got the kitten buoyed in a tub of water as his washes her squirming form. I put my arms around him, savouring the nearness of my family.

"So?" He asks.

I've been taking holo-images of Jean Luc and Saoirse every chance I get. Every moment feels precious and I want to catalogue it. I want to savour the newness of being a parent with Jean Luc. He finds wonder in everything she does. His eyes used to light up in wonder when we'd encounter a new star, a new artifact, or a novel and undiscovered culture. But, those looks of marvel pale to transparency in comparison to Jean Luc seeing our daughter do the simplest things. She might just hiccup and Jean Luc feels the need to tell me all about it.

"So, I have to go back to work soon," I pause with dread, "the day after tomorrow type of soon. And I was thinking…" My thoughts trail off as I see him lift her delighted little squirming body out of the water and cradle her dripping form to his chest. I raise my eyebrows in amusement, "Towel?"

"Mmm, I seem to have forgotten one in my eagerness to give the kitten her first bath."

I rummage in the drawer for a suitable towel, "so as I was saying, both you and I have to get back to work soon and I don't want to put the kitten here in day-care."

"Mmm…Towel?"

"Oh! Yes, here," Big green eyes light up as the soft towel rubs against her wet bottom. Her tufts of auburn stand on end and I can't help but be drawn to attack her chubby baby cheeks with damp kisses. I kiss my husband's cheek before I pull away. Instantly, I feel his hand tenderly grab my arm and draw me back to him. The kitten is sandwiched between us as he kisses me soundly.

"Jean Luc," I tease, kissing him a second time and eliciting a delightful squeal from the baby between us. "When we put the baby down!" Ever-insatiable man that he is...

"Alright," he chuckles, "anyhow, as you were saying."

"Well, I was saying that we're lucky that since you break for summer term in two week-"

"Beverly – I'm sorry - the dean has been talking about having me teach summer classes."

"Will that be as big of a time commitment as a full semester's workload?"

"No. It would at most be one or two classes a day and perhaps a few hours of open office hours for the students. However, most of my research and writing, can be done from home."

"Well, then at least for the next two weeks, I'll take the kitten to work with me. She'll be safe and I'll have Betsey keep an eye on her and I can watch her in between patients. And then, I was thinking, when you get off for the summer or when you're done with classes, you can pick her up and take her home."

"Are you sure the office staff wont mind?"

"Mind! They're the ones who suggested it!" I laugh remembering how excited Betsey and Karla were they brought it up as a solution to my dilemma.

I'm coming up on one year since I started working with Hope and to commemorate the occasion, she's sold me half the practice. I never thought that I would own half a private medical practice. It's exhilarating. Hope and I are able to dictate our own precepts and treat patients as we see fit. I still can't get over how freeing it is to be able to work like this. I'm never called up for review. If I'm in the wrong, I'm answerable to the patient and the patient alone. It's very personal and I've been able to build my relationship with my patients and now I even call some of them my friends.

"Well it sounds perfect to me, Beverly. I wasn't exactly looking forward to putting Saoirse in any sort of daycare facility – even though I do like Diane. She's a wonderful caretaker, but I'm loath to let this little kitten out of our sight. Is that terribly overprotective of me?"

I laugh at my foreshadowing, "Yes, but I feel the same way."


	44. Chapter 44

"So what did you end up doing?"

"Well," I throw my hands up in the disbelief, "He'll have to go in for surgery. Hope, I don't know how he's lived with it for that long and no one's said anything. The septum is almost completed deviated and it's occluding the left nasal passageway! I'm telling you I couldn't believe it when I saw the scans."

"Did it happen in an accident?"

"No. Uncorrected Marfan's Syndrome." I'm not complaining about my job. I've said over and over again that I love it. But, it does get a little routine at times. However, what I sometimes have to remind myself even after 25 years of practice, is that most of medicine is routine. Nevertheless, when you get those wild cases, it's such a thrill.

"You would think they would have corrected for Marfan's in the womb. We're in the 24th century for Pete's sake! There's no reason that anyone should be living with that risk. On another note, Bev, Betsey and Karla are really enjoying little Saoirse! I swear they've taken more holo photos of her than they have of their own children."

"I know! Do you know how much trouble Jean Luc has when he comes to pick her up? It's like he's negotiating a Cardassian hostage negotiation." I laugh remembering the first time Jean Luc came to pick her up – it took him an hour to get her out the door and into the car.

"How is Jean Luc taking to being a father?"

An involuntary chill runs down my spine when I picture my husband with our daughter. Seeing them together is something sanctified and precious. "He's, he's perfect with her. I have to admit that before she came I was a little worried, though."

"Oh?" Hope's eyebrow cocks as she looks up from her padd and brings her chair full circle.

"When we were on the Enterprise a while back we were hailed by a probe that requested Jean Luc by name. It's a very long story, but the probe had been programmed with a holographic representation of Bok, a Ferengi official who tried to murder Jean Luc years before-"

"What?!" Morbid amusement plays across Hope's features.

"Well, apparently in the effort to complete the task, Bok threatened Jean Luc's son in order to lure Jean Luc into a snare where he'd be vulnerable. Apparently, the original reason that Bok wanted Jean Luc dead was because Jean Luc killed Bok's son."

"Jean Luc has a son?"

"No, but Bok manipulated this young man named Jason Viggo to appear that he was Jean Luc's son."

"With integrative DNA overlay technology? That's banned everywhere in the quadrant though! How did he even get his hands on it?"

"Hope – Bok was Ferengi…"

"Oh, gotcha. So, go on?" She knows that's explanation enough!

"Well over 30 years Jean Luc had a brief romance with a young woman named Miranda Viggo. Somehow, Bok found out that they had an affair and that Miranda had a son. So, he decided to use him as a ploy to lure Jean Luc."

Hope loves a good story, "so," she's getting giddy, "what happened?"

"Well we rescued Jason who we thought to be in danger, I ran a DNA analysis and because of the tampering it came out that he was Jean Luc's son-"

"Right, but that was only because of the manipulation-" If she keeps cutting me off, I'll never finish this story!

"Correc-"

"So?! How did Jean Luc react to finding out he had a long lost son!?"

"Well this is why I was initially worried about him and our daughter: he was mortified! To be fair, I think that part of his feelings were due to the fact that Miranda had never told him that he had an alleged son and that he had missed over 20 years of this young man's life."

"So, I'm confused, why were you worried?"

"I know it's silly, but it took Jean Luc a long time to warm up to Jason. I understand why of course: he was in shock. But, there was no warmth between them. I think that Jean Luc just felt awkward with Jason. Foolishly, in the back of my mind I harboured a tiny fear that it might be slightly awkward this time."

"But, it's not, Bev. I've seen him with her. It's beautiful. I don't think that Gregg was that enthralled with our two little monsters."

I smile, the images of my husband holding our daughter flooding towards me. "Yes," I've been lucky.

"Well, Bev. We're done for the day. I think Bets and Karla have already gone home. Shall we take off?"

"Hmm. Let's go."

It's summer once again and the days have reverted to their traditional sleeplessness and grown balmy. In spite of the warmth, I love driving home along the solemn open roads with the car windows fully down. In these moments that I'm alone on the open road with the slight breeze rusting through my long hair, my life feels real and organic. I'm separated from the burden of technology that was imposed on me for most of my life. I feel simple, light.

I smile as I turn off the main road, slowing the car as I amble along our long, serpentine driveway. I remember one day we were driving home and we saw a mother deer and her foal off in the distance. Once they heard the car, they ran immediately. But for a moment, we were awe struck by the beauty.

Suddenly, and I can't pinpoint why, I have a niggling feeling that something's wrong. No, there's nothing overtly out of place or lugubrious, but as I shut down the car and walk up to the front door, something feels ominous.

"Jean Luc?" I call out.

No reply.

"I'm in the living room," I breathe a sigh of relief as I see him holding our sleeping daughter. At least they're safe and sound.

"Jean Luc, what's going on? It sounds like something's wrong."

"Beverly," His face looks pained and the atmosphere in the room is drawn and somber, "we have to talk."


	45. Chapter 45

"Jean Luc?" I walk around the end of the couch to where he's sitting. I haven't seen this expression on my husband's face in a long time.

"Hi, Kitten," I whisper to the sleeping bundle as I kiss her soft head and settle as close as possibly, "Jean Luc, what is it? You're scaring me."

He takes a deep breath and sits back into the soft sofa, "they called."

"Jean Luc, who called?"

"It was completely out of the blue, Beverly. I was in my office this morning and I received an incoming comm. call. When I opened the link, it was Admiral Nakamura at Starfleet Headquarters."

Starfleet? It's been a year since we resigned our commissions. We have nothing to do with the establishment, other than the fact that Wes is still currently at the Academy. Suddenly an ache slays my stomach, "Jean Luc, they don't want…"

"Yes. Apparently, there's a situation with the Romulans and they need a skilled negotiator."

I stay quiet for a while. I know that Jean Luc is happy in this life, but he's been given the chance to go back and I don't know if I can ask him not to do it. I don't think it's fair of me to stand in his way if that's what he wants.

Like the perceptive and brilliant man that he is, he answers my question before I can ask it, "You know, Beverly, if I had been offered this opportunity a year and a half ago – I wouldn't have hesitated. But," He stops, looking down at the picturesque sleeping bundle lying across his arm.

"Jean Luc. Tell me." I whisper, moving close to him and letting my lips linger on the strong profile of his cheekbone. I feel him let out a deep sigh as he fixes his gaze on mine.

"I gave my whole life to Starfleet. I upheld its precepts and principles and I believed in it with everything in me. And Starfleet gave a lot back. I had a decent life. I never wanted for anything and I was given command of her flagship vessel along with plenty of praise and prestige."

"But?"

"But my world shifted, Beverly, when you said you loved me. My focus was no longer consumed by my work and everything that I had found satisfaction in before. Being married to you, loving you, being a father to our daughter, having my students and my work– it's more than I ever thought I deserved… Am I terribly selfish?"

I let out a breath that I hadn't known that I was holding. The feeling of relief is too much and it manifests itself in a sob.

"Jean Luc, you are by no means selfish. For a moment, I thought that you might have wanted to go back. I know that you're happy here with us, but I'm- I'm so-" and in a moment something dawns on me, "I'm confused."

He looks down, refitting his gaze on his little girl, "you're right. That's not the whole story. Remember Wes' incident a while back with Nova Squadron?"

"Of course," What could that have to do with it? That was absolved almost as soon as it started.

"He should have been expelled for it."

"What?" No.

"This afternoon when I declined the offer, Nakamura said that they had planned for me to say no, so they're leveraging Wes' graduation."

The blood leaves my face and I feel myself starting to shake, "what do you mean?" My voice is stern and angry. I don't want to wake Saoirse, but I can't help myself; I have a Howard temper that's beginning to rear its horned head. In a moment, I'm up and pacing.

"I think you know what I mean, Beverly. If I don't go back, they'll deny Wes his graduation."

"That's not fair!" I don't mean to, but I wake the sleeping baby. A loud cry rings through the room, only accentuating the dramatic and upset ambiance.

He stands and replaces the baby against his shoulder as he rocks her and kisses her reddened forehead. "I'm sorry." I walk over to him.

"Shhh, kitten. I'm sorry." I murmur. Jean Luc's arm snakes around my waist, holding us all close together. "Jean Luc, how can they make you choose like that?"

"I don't know, Beverly. Truthfully, I'm a good negotiator, but there are others. And I'm worried because the situation is very dangerous. Things with the Romulans are tenuous and I just don't know if I have it in me to take that kind of a risk – not when I have so much to lose. But, Beverly, I can't risk Wes' future for this."

"No. Jean Luc, Wesley would gladly leave Starfleet if it meant keeping you with us. He might leave anyway when he's finds out about this!"

He's obstinate. "I can't ask him to do that. He has his whole life ahead of him. He has such promise and talent and I don't want to rob him of the myriad of opportunities that are invariably in store for him."

My lips once again search him out, this time finding the deep dimple on his chin. The moment doesn't warrant it, but I can't help but smile as I see Saoirse nuzzle his shoulder as she looks over at me. "Jean Luc, this doesn't sound like Starfleet. Something else is underfoot. I know you're going to say no, but I'm going to insist that we talk to Wes. I'll call him and tell him to come home tomorrow evening after his classes and we're going to sit down and explain the situation. We owe him that. Then, we have to contact Owen Paris. This whole scheme sounds like it has Alynna Nechayev's name all over it. We'll get to the bottom of it."

I feel his shoulders drop in relief and acquiescence. "You're right."

"I love you Jean Luc. I love you and I can't lose you. After more than 25 years of loving you and longing for you, I'm finally happy and content and I can't lose that."

We'll solve this. We have to. I'm not losing my husband. Everything's going to be Okay. Right?


	46. Chapter 46

**I apologise everyone for the formatting issues! More chapters are coming! **

"What? Bev you can't be serious! That doesn't sound like Starfleet at all. I mean I know I left after only a year, but I was at the academy for as long as you were. I didn't think they were capable of such an underhanded move!"

"I know, Hope. We're shocked to say the least." Normally I'd be drawn to the plate of Marla Hutchinson's caramel brownies, but I have no appetite. I can't stop thinking about what happened last night. After Jean Luc told me, we tried to put it aside. We tried to have a relaxing family evening, but that didn't work so we just sat up all night agonizing over what we are going to do.

"Well, we have a light patient schedule today so instead of staying and dictating charts, just go home. Be with your husband. Does he have classes today?"

"He has two in the morning and then he's going to come pick up Saoirse and go home. What time is the last patient?"

"It doesn't matter," Hope responds nonchalantly as she shrugs into her white coat, "as soon as Jean Luc comes, you're leaving."

I roll my eyes, "Hope I can't leave if I have patients."

"Bev, I'll take whatever patients you have left. Believe me, I don't think you're going to be any use to anyone right now."

She's right.

Over the past year Hope has become my closest friend. I regret that Deanna and I have grown apart. As far as I know, she's still aboard the Enterprise. I get messages from her every once in a while, but things between us are different now. When we were aboard the same ship, we saw the same people every day and we had much more in common. The crew aboard the Enterprise rotates on a yearly basis as new cadets and personnel come on board. The only people who are truly constant are the senior staff – which too has changed since Jean Luc and I left. Her life is different now and so is mine.

Six months ago Will was granted the rank of captain and he took command of the Titan – a Luna class exploratory vessel. Sadly, I still don't think that they've reconciled a romantic relationship. I'm hopeful, though!

I wave my hands in grateful defeat, "alright, thank you Hope. It means a lot."

"Nonsense, Bev. You'd do the same for me."

/

"Mom, what's going on?"

"Let's wait until we get home, Wes." I pull out of the transport station's parking lot. I'm trying to keep the mood light; I don't want to worry Wes before we talk with him.

He's not fooled, though, "Mom, I can tell something's wrong. Is everything okay with Jean Luc and Saoirse? Did something happen?"

I shake my head, "Everything's fine with them, Wes."

"Okay. Uh, how's work going?"

"It's great. How's school?"

"Fine. Mom, really?"

"Wesley Crusher! When I tell you what's going on I want Jean Luc to be there as well. This is a family matter and I'm not having this discussion with you alone."

"Mom, are you pregnant again?" I can hear a hint of amusement and excitement in his voice.

I can't contain my laughter as I nudge his shoulder, "no! I am not!"

"Ow. Careful, Mom. I'm precious goods!" His face is lit up with laughter and delight as I glance over at him.

His voice sobers, "Is everything okay between you and Jean Luc?"

"Oh Wes," I never want him to think that. Not ever. "No. Everything's perfect between Jean Luc and I. I promise."

His tone changes, "I'm glad. He's really changed a lot, Mom. I know it's only been a year, but he's a different man than he used to be on the Enterprise. I don't remember much of what he was like when I was young, but is this close to what it was like when you all were younger?"

I try to remember, "no. He's happier now."

"I think that's because he's with you. I saw it all over him when we were on the Enterprise. He's always been in love with you. That's why he's so happy, isn't it?"

My eyes sting with building tears and I shake my head, "well," I begin sarcastically, "I don't want to take all the credit but," this isn't a sarcastic matter, it's something veritable and beautiful, "yes. We make each other happy."

/

I look over my shoulder and see a sight I don't see often enough. Wes is sitting at the dining room table bouncing Saoirse on his knee. Her eyes are wide, amusement dances all over her face, and she's letting out the most delightful squeal.

She's only 3 months old, but already I can see hints of a burgeoning personality. She's happy and easy to please. She's peaceful, calm, and even though she's too young to know concretely who Wes, Jean Luc, and I are I can see she loves us.

"Jean Luc," Wes begins, "Mom won't tell me what's going on. I suppose I can't wheedle it out of you either, huh?"

A sad smile crosses my husband's face as he looks over at me and then back to Wes. "I suppose now's as good a time as ever, Wesley."

Wes stops bouncing the baby and settles her against his chest. She wriggles for a moment until she calms and relaxes against him. "You guys are scaring me. Please just tell me."

I sit down at the table beside my husband and lay a hand on his thigh, "The day before yesterday, Jean Luc was contacted by Starfleet."

Confusion is written all over Wesley's face as Jean Luc continues, "Yes. I was in my office when Nakamura contacted me and told me about the most recent political crisis surrounding Praetor Tvorian and the crisis that's building in the Romulan High Council. Starfleet wants to maintain the current balance of power. If Tvorian is able to ascend to authority, the current Romulan-Federation trade agreements and tentative peace treaties will most certainly be dissolved. Starfleet wants me to go to Romulus and mediate between the two governmental factions and see if revolution and overthrow can be avoided."

Wes is silent for a moment but then, "So, are you going to go? Wait. I'm confused: you're no longer in Starfleet. Why would they be contacting you? There are plenty of other captains and plenty other Starfleet politicians. Why you?"

"I don't know, Wes."

"I'm sorry, Jean Luc. But, uh, if you don't want to go- I'm assuming you don't want to go?"

"No. I don't. Starfleet isn't my life anymore." He looks over at me, "You, Saoirse, and your mother are my life and I'm more than satisfied. I have no desire to rejoin the ranks."

"Thank you, Jean Luc." Wes gives a small smile, "so if that's the case, why didn't you just say no?"

Jean Luc takes a deep breath and grabs my hand, "I did. But Nakamura… Nakamura threatened to prevent your graduation from the Academy if I didn't comply with their request."

Wes settled back into the chair and pulled his sister close against him. He didn't answer for a while as he looked at her sleeping figure, "This is because of the incident with Nova Squadron, isn't it?"

"Yes, Wes I'm-"

"No. You and Mom did everything that you could for me. I knew that I should have been expelled and a little part of me knew that the only reason that they didn't kick me out was because of my connection with the great Captain Picard."

"Wes, please. We're going to get to the bottom of this. I'm going to speak with Owen Paris and see if anything can be done."

Wes looks up at us with a smile and I'm suddenly confused. "If this is how Starfleet is going to treat one of her greatest captains, I don't want to be affiliated with it."

"Wesley-" Jean Luc scolds.

"No, Jean Luc. I'm, I'm serious. I won't let you go on this mission. The situation with the Romulans is very serious. I've been following it myself and several people have already lost their lives. If it comes down to it, I'll leave the academy. I have plenty of skills and plenty of job offers from independent companies; I can get a job outside of the 'Fleet. I don't want you to worry about me. Please."

Jean Luc bows his head in gratitude, letting the love that my son has for him wash over. "Thank you, Wesley."

I add: "We're going to speak with Admiral Paris tomorrow, Wes. Hopefully we'll work everything out."

"Wesley," Jean Luc interjects, "you have to believe that I would do anything for you. I would."

"I know, but not this. You're not much good to us if you're dead."

He smiles, "Understood."


	47. Chapter 47

**Sorry for all the problems guys! I think we're all fixed now. Tell me if anything else is amiss! New chapter within the hour! **

"Jean Luc?" His arms tighten around me.

"Beverly?"

The warm night air blows into the bedroom, carrying with it the sweet scent of wild honeysuckles and fresh cut grass. Wesley left us after dinner. He said he had to get back to San Francisco and start talking to people. I think he's actually thinking about leaving the Academy. This isn't the first time he's thought about leaving, though. I remember an incident not too long ago where he all but dropped out of school. To tell you the truth, I don't think Wes really wants to be in Starfleet. He entered the Academy because he could; he is extremely intelligent. And, it's all he knew for most of his life. Moreover, I think that Jean Luc's influence was a huge impetus that fueled Wes' love for space and exploration.

Now, though(because of our example), Wes sees that a good life can be had outside of the regimented structuralism that Starfleet demands. And, truthfully, I think he will be happy outside of it- if that's what he chooses. I don't really have an opinion as to what Wes should do with his life. I want him to be happy and I want him to be free to explore his creativity and talents.

He's been experimenting heavily in the study of static warp fields. He told me a while back that he'd been approached by a private company that is experimenting with pushing the current warp boundary. He'd initially brushed the offer off, but now I think he's reneging on that opinion. But, I don't want Wes to leave Starfleet over this incident if it can be prevented. I want him to have the opportunity to finish his education and something that he's spent most of his life building towards.

I grab my husband's solid hand and tangle our fingers together, scraping the metal of our wedding bands. He notices the gesture and moves close to feather hot open kisses on my neck. I smile and turn my body to face him. I want to talk and discuss, but my husband has other ideas entirely as he pulls me underneath him and begins to kiss me.

"It's too hot for clothing," he smiles as his free hand finds the hem of my shirt.

"Jean Luc! We can turn on the environmental controls." I joke in response.

I tear my hand away from his as I mirror his action. Soon, our clothes are divested and thrown to the side. The past few days have been too intense and nothing is settled yet; Wesley's position at the academy is still in limbo and we haven't gotten to the bottom of what's truly going on with the admiralty. But, none of that matters as I lie in bed with the man that I love.

I feel his body and my own grow hot and respond to our nearness. Skin slides against skin and finally, no barriers separate us.

"You know," I try to maintain a running dialogue as he kisses across my chest, "when I was in the car with Wes he asked me if we were pregnant again."

I feel him shake his head as he moves closer to my breast, "do you want to be?"

I feel like a limp seal as his hands wander down my body. "Unh! Jean Luc I can't focus when-ungh!-" my back arches in response, "when you're….when you're doing that."

He halts his movement and withdraws his hand, suddenly becoming serious. He looks right at me and I feel time stop. I can't see anything else but him as he moves in close to claim my mouth. His passion is evident and I'm overwhelmed by the love that he has for me. I'm overwhelmed by how often and how much he still wants me. He pulls away slowly but stays close, "do you want to be?"

My free hand moves up to cup his cheek, "of course I do."

He laughs, amused by the prospect of another life in our home, "then what are we waiting for?"

And he diligently resumes his previous activities.


	48. Chapter 48

"Beverly!"

"Yes! I'm in the bathroom, what is it?"

"I've gotten a hold of Admiral Paris. I'm waiting on hold for him!"

"I'll be right down!"

All morning we've been putting in calls to command headquarters. It used to be easy to call up whomever we wanted to, from the newest Starfleet graduate to the most senior Admiral. Jean Luc was in a very prestigious position as captain of Enterprise and I carried a lot of weight as his CMO and former head of Starfleet medical. Now, though, we're civilians and trying to contact anyone in Starfleet is damn near impossible.

Hope assumed my patients for the day so that Jean Luc and I can try and solve the situation. I'm grateful because I'm eager to get to the bottom of this. Jean Luc cancelled his classes for the day as well. Luckily, he only had one and the dean is understanding.

We spent the better half of the morning on the phone with the general Starfleet directory. It took him an hour to contact an actual human being. Luckily, he was recognized immediately. Then through a series of very convoluted events and interactions, we were finally able to speak directly with Admiral Paris' young intern, a lovely new cadet named Tabora. Thankfully, we just might be able to get to the bottom of this.

I run into the study, "did he answer yet?"

Saoirse's been asleep in her basinett at Jean Luc's feet all morning and I've been able to take her when she needed to be fed and changed. We tried calling Wes, but he's been in classes all day.

"No," he says, still consummately looking at his console, "not ye-"

"Admiral!" A warm face appears on the screen opposite us. Admiral Paris is an old soul. If anyone ever were to be likened to looking like a human teddy bear, it would have to be Owen Paris. The soft lines on his face coupled with his soft middle make him endearing, approachable.

"Uh, Jean Luc, Beverly. How are you?" His tone is strained. Something is wrong. Jean Luc and I have been in situations like this one before. Jean Luc especially is accustomed to reading small ques. He's able to pick up quickly on subtle movements and minute changes in posture. His natural skill is what makes him such a brilliant negotiator. However, you don't have to be an expert to read Owen Paris. His back is stiff and his expression is pained. He looks uncomfortable as he shifts stiffly in his seat.

"Eh, Jean Luc, Beverly – I got your note. Tom is doing well. We heard from him in the last data stream. They have a little baby girl named Miral." That's good news, but he knows that's not the reason we've called. He's stalling.

Jean Luc plays along. Since both of us can be seen on the other side of the console, so do I.

"Wonderful, Owen –"

"Jean Luc, Beverly, as much as I'd like to chat, we're very busy. I'll have my aid contact you. Paris out." And the screen fades to black.


	49. Chapter 49

"What was that?" I'm still in shock.

A small cry sounds at Jean Luc's feet and I bend down and pick up the fussy baby, "shh, kitten. Shhh…"

I see Jean Luc's surprised expression as he turns to face me. "What in devil's name is going on at Starfleet?"

I open the top of my shirt and allow Saoirse to latch on. The motion is almost automatic as I replay the last few moment's events. "What do you think is going on? Owch!" I'm fully brought back to the here and now with a bite on my nipple. I smirk at the situation, but not before I notice my husband's far off look as he absently stares out the large window in front of us.

"Jean Luc," I touch his arm and bring him back to me, "what is it?"

"I don't know, Beverly. But, you saw that; that's not the Owen Paris I-"

Jean Luc's portable communicator lights up on the desk. When we were in Starfleet, we had comm. badges. All Starfleet personnel are required to wear a comm. badge. The device is small and is auto-programmed to your unique bio-signature. If ever you need to be contacted, you're called over your comm. badge. However, for civilian communication, we use small handheld commutations devices. In some cases they can serve as entertainment sources as well. However, our models are rudimentary.

"What is it, Jean Luc?"

"It's from Paris' aide. It says that Owen will contact us this evening" he shows me the simple message: will call at 2000 hours.-O.P.

I sit back against the chair in defeat, careful not to jostle the baby. "Why is everything with Starfleet so damn complicated? For all we know, a hostile alien species has overtaken the collective conscious of select members of the Starfleet admiralty!"

He chuckles at the memory it brings back, "Like the time Deanna, Data, and Miles O'Brien were taken over by the alleged ghosts of the USS Essex?"

We're both laughing now at the sheer ridiculousness of some of the situations we encountered on the Enterprise. However, the gravity of the situation soon rears its head again.

"Jean Luc, did you contact Wes again?"

He shakes his head. "I tried contacting him again an hour ago. I sent him a text, but I haven't heard a response."

"Did you ask him to come home tonight?"

He nods his head. We both want Wes home with us. He's nearly 23 years old now, but in light of the most recent situation, we're worried about him. There's no reason to be; he's not in any mortal danger as far as we know, but having him home with us makes both of us feel whole. His presence adds a sense of calm and unity to our family.

"Well," I sigh, "there's not much we can do here. Do you want to take a walk and then make some dinner? I don't think I have it in me to be in house any longer!"

/

It's only 1800 hours, but we're already nervous. Our food sits cold on the table. Honestly, we both looked on its preparation as something to keep us occupied rather than to eat. I look down at my lap, smiling at how much our current situation reminds me of some of my experiences as a student.

"So," I shove my plate away and look at him, "is this what you were like on the eve of an exam or a big event?"

He laughs, "Not as bad, but yes. In the hours leading up to a big test, I lost all focus. I couldn't touch a thing. I remember, in my final year before my final exam in Advanced Command and Battle Tactics, I stared at the wall for a full 3 hours. I couldn't eat; I couldn't rest. It was awful. What about you?"

I laugh, remembering at how nervous I would get before midterms and finals, "Oh Jean Luc I was terrible! Most of my classmates would be in the library until the moment that they had to leave to sit the exam. I, on the other hand, was absolutely useless. I figured that if I didn't know it the night before, there was no chance of me learning and integrating it that morning. Like you, I just stared at the wall."

His face lights up at a memory, "remember that one time you and I spent together before you went in to take your boards?"

"Of course. I remember that day exactly."

He's amused, "oh?"

"I was so distracted by you. You weren't wearing your uniform and you brought me coffee."

"I knew you were a little distracted. I never imagined it was because of my many charms" he smirks cheekily.

I throw my napkin, hitting him in the face, "yes well thanks to your and your charms I nearly failed those boards!"

I beam at the memory of my husband as a young boy. But my smile widens when I think of the man who he is now.

"What?" He whispers.

"You."

"Thinking about my charms?" He's such a cheeky little boy sometimes and I keep falling more and more in love with him. It scares, me sometimes, to be so in love with someone.

"The many."

We hear a small beep coming from the other room and he jumps up to answer it. "Do you think it's Wes?" I call from the dining room.

"Beverly," His voice is low, somber, and very serious.

"Jean Luc, what is it?" I saunter in the direction of his voice.

"It's another message from Admiral Paris."

I find him in the study again, waking the console.

"I don't like the way this feels, Beverly. There's something that's just not right about this. I hope that Owen has answers for us."

"Jean Luc, do you think we can trust him? I know that Owen is a good man, but we know from experience that no one is incorruptible."

He lets out a deep sigh and turns in earnest to me, " I think we can. I don't know whom else to turn to."

"I know. I thought things would finally be simple now! Starfleet is so damn complicated! I guess we'll just have to hear what he has to say."

So we wait in silence for the alert of the console.


	50. Chapter 50

The perception of time's passage has puzzled people for ages. There's that old adage: "time flies when you're having fun". Sadly the reverse is also true and time inches by in moments of tension or stress. According to the console's chronometer, we've only been sitting here for 5 minutes. But it's been the most agonizing 5 minutes of our lives.

An indication flags on the computer, telling us that we're receiving an incoming call.

Finally!

Instantaneously, the familiar personage of Owen Paris illuminates the screen in the growing darkness of the study.

He looks more relaxed this time. I can tell from his background that he's not in his office. There's a large sofa in the periphery and I can hear the soft patter of feet somewhere off screen.

"Jean Luc," the older man begins, "Beverly," he nods in my direction. "I'm sorry about earlier. All Starfleet communications are being monitored and with all that's been going on I didn't want our communication to be monitored or recorded."

"Owen, what's going on? I'm sure you've heard about my situation."

Owen takes a deep breath, "Jean Luc, your resignation has made you a little bit of a pariah. When you left, there was a huge drop in morale. You have to understand that you were one of our most well-known and famous captains! We had cadets climbing over each other to serve aboard the Enterprise with you. Academy applications were up and there was a huge surge in young people's interest in Starfleet." Owen once again turns his gaze to meet my own, "the same with you, Beverly. Young residents were practically chomping at the bit to rotate with you on the Enterprise."

We're both still confused, "I'm sorry, Owen. But what does that have to do with Jean Luc being coerced into going to Romulus or Wesley being denied graduation?"

Owen looks down and rubs his temples as he leans forward in his chair, "Don't you see? This is a ploy to get you both back in Starfleet."

"Are you saying that the admiralty is using us as pawns to boost interest in Starfleet Academy applications? Owen that's absurd!"

"I know, I know." But the signs are still there; Owen Paris is still hiding something.

"Owen, what aren't you telling us?" My voice is soft. This man is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's been good to both of us in the past and there's no use in harshness or brash interrogation.

"The Federation wants to build the Fleet to boost its might. There's talk of taking the Cardassians into the Federation in an attempt to intimidate the Romulan Empire. And, with the way things are going, less and less young people are willing to go into Starfleet. Voyager is still missing, we're just off the Dominion war, and even the 'great' Jean Luc Picard has resigned."

"I won't be pulled back in by guilt, Owen. It's not our sole responsibility that interest in Starfleet has plummeted! Look what the organization his become! They're even willing to negotiate with the Cardassians who are more ruthless than the Romulans! Owen, Beverly and I have a family now. We have lives and jobs and we're not going to drop those for the sake of boosting morale in an organization. And for the admiralty to even think of threatening our son! It's an outrage!" He can't help but respond to the situation. I put my hand on his knee in an effort to ground him, but he's shaking with anger. Jean Luc feels betrayed by an establishment and a set of ideals that he spent his whole life following and upholding. And to tell you the truth, so do I. It was better when we thought it was some sort of fiendish plot by cloaked aliens to seize the mind and the conscience of high-ranking officials. But now that we know that Wes' future being threatened by bitter admirals who are disgruntled over a drop in admissions statistics, we're both a livid.

"Please Jean Luc, Calm down." Owen gestures with his hands. I can see that he feels bad, but that he's also complicit. The poor man is struggling with his conscience.

"Owen," Jean Luc begins calmly, "please don't do this. The sheer ridiculousness of this situation has to be evident to even you. Send someone else to take care of the Romulans. In fact, send Captain Harkson. I've worked with him in the past and he's extremely-"

"We've already considered Harkson. Truly Jean Luc it wasn't an issue of finding someone suitable to deal with the Romulans, it's all about publicity."

We want to get to the heart of the matter so he asks, "will you really prevent Wes' graduation if I don't come back?"

"When Nechayev and Nakamura were discussing it, they were very serious about following through with it."

"Can you say or do anything for Wesley?" he asks softly.

"I'll try, Jean Luc. But I'm one man; the number of admirals who aren't intimidated by Nechayev is small, as you know."

We both smile at the veracity of the statement, "we know."

The lightness we project on the situation is short lived, however. "Owen," There's that voice. When Jean Luc is about to threaten something, his voice takes on a deeper octave and he very definitively squares his shoulders. "Owen, if this gets out, Starfleet is going to have more trouble than simply a decline in their Academy admissions statistics."

Owen buries his head in his hands and tries to massage his tired facial muscles, "I know. Let me see what I can do. I'll try to keep you informed. I can't contact you from Starfleet and I can't use my comm. badge. I'll speak to you from my home in a few nights. I'll try. By the way, congratulations on the baby. Paris out. " And abruptly the screen returns to black.

/

"That didn't feel good, Beverly." His features are bathed in moonlight as he faces me in the stillness of our bedroom.

"Threatening Owen Paris?" I can't help but trace the lines on his face while he's thinking. My hand rounds the curve of his cheek and he turns to kiss my palm.

"Yes. He's a good man and I don't like the situation he's in."

"Were you serious about the threat?"

He sighs deeply. His hand moves from my thigh to the small of my waist and I focus I in on the feeling of his warm palm over top the silk of my nightgown. "Yes. He's threatening Wesley's future. Even if Wes doesn't want to stay in Starfleet after he graduates, I think that having the actual degree will behoove him later in life. He might think that now he can just get a job without an actual diploma – and I'm sure he can. Wes is the kind of boy who companies hire even if all he had was a secondary school education. But, I'd like him to have that degree and it's not right that it should be taken away from him. I don't think I could live with myself if he lost everything he's worked towards – no matter what he says."

His thoughts mirror my own. But then something from earlier this evening comes back to me and I smile.

"What?" He whispers through a sheepish grin.

"When we were speaking with Owen, you called Wesley your son. Do you really feel that way?"

"I always have, Beverly. Always."

I don't know what to say so I shrug his hand off my waist, raise myself up, and push him on his back. "I love you, Jean Luc Picard. We'll figure this out and no matter what happens we'll get through it." Those are the last words spoken that evening as I claim his lips as my own.


	51. Chapter 51

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, lads. Love hearing what you think and getting your input on the direction of the story. If you have any suggestions or anything, let me know! **

Sleeplessness brought on by 3am feedings and then having to get up for work at 7 does nothing for either of our frayed nerves. It's been 3 days since we spoke with Admiral Paris and he hasn't contacted us since. That's not what's worrying me though.

"Beverly, have you heard from Wes?" _That's_ what's worrying me.

"No. I haven't. Not since he left home."

"I've been trying to contact him almost every hour on the hour and nothing. I've tried to contact his friends, but nothing. I don't seem to have any more pull with Starfleet. Like Owen said, I seem to have become a bit of a pariah and getting through to anyone, even cadets, has become as onerous as crossing the Strait of Gibraltar!"

"I don't think it's that, Jean Luc. I think Starfleet is changing." I'm exhausted. I'd been on autopilot today with my patients and that scares me. I know from experience that even if a patient presents with symptoms that looks "ordinary", there can always be something lurking underneath. During my first year as an attending I had a young woman present to me with a chronic clear-mucous nasal discharge. Every physician she'd been to had told her that it was simply a cold so they'd treated her with various antibiotics and antihistamines. Each time, she told me, she'd just been given a hypospray and sent on her way. Initially, I was going to do the same. But then, I noticed that her white blood cell counts were abnormal. So I did further scans and found out she had an early-stage, aggressive, cancerous tumour pressing on her maxillary sinus. It would have spread within the year and she would have died. So moral of the story is to always be vigilant. And today, I certainly was not.

A small cry sounds on the baby monitor reminding me that as much as I want to dwell on and discuss the current situation with my husband, I need to take care of matters closer to home.

I start to get up, heading towards the stairs, "I'll be right back."

"Beverly," he smiles as he lightly pushes my shoulder back down. "I'll get the baby. You've just gotten home."

I grin weakly, "Thank you," as I grab at his trailing hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

My head falls into my hands and images of my son flood towards me. I don't know why, but I feel something is wrong. He must know we've been trying to contact him. He knew that we spoke to Admiral Paris. Almost assuredly he would want to know the fallout of that conversation. He told us he'd be in touch and he normally keeps his promises.

I hear footfall and my face lights up at the two treasures making there way towards me. "Hi, kitten!"

"Here's mom," he whispers to her as he lays kisses on her downy head.

"Let me take a good look at you, little girl. Every minute I see her it's like she's grown another inch! Oh Jean Luc, I don't want this little one to grow up; I love having a baby in the house!"

He laughs as he settles next to us and kisses my cheek, "you know what the solution for that is?"

I roll my eyes, smile, and look over at him, "make another one?" He's incorrigible! "Beverly, I'm worried about Wesley. I know I must sound like a broken record, but he would have called us by now or at least sent us a text if he were alright!"

"I know. I'm can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Jean Luc, do you think this has to do with Starfleet? Do you think he's in any sort of danger? Would they really stoop that low?"

His shoulders sag as he hunches forward and rests his elbows heavily on his knees, "I don't know" he mutters through his hands. "I'd like to believe that they would never be that ruthless. But then, I never expected this either!"

I frown as I feel Saoirse grab at my hair, "hey there, kitten! OWCH! Owch, Jean Luc!"

He's laughing, "hey kitten! Don't pull at mommy's hair. It's finally long and I want her to keep it that way." I feel a slackening in her firm grip as he gently tugs at her little fingers, gingerly prying them away from the affected strands.

"So, what should we do about Wes?"

"I've been thinking; maybe we can try to contact Will. Maybe he can find out where Wes is."

I nod my head, "that's a good idea, Jean Luc, but we don't have accessed to privileged communication anymore. Remember when we could just locate a comm. badge and that was that? Now, though, we have to go through that whole directory again! And what if Will's on a deep space mission? Then, we-"

"Haven't got a chance of contacting him. Yes, I know. And I think I might have burned or at least charred a bridge with Owen."

"I know, but it wasn't your fault. I don't think we could have avoided charring that bridge," He's at his wit's end. I don't know what to do. I don't have a solution.

As if an omnipotent power heard our silent pleas, a small vibration and a light draw our attention to the small communicator on the ottoman. We jump, eager to find out if it's Wes.

"I don't recognize who it's from," he looks confused. "Do you know a young woman named Sophie?"

"Uh, I think she's one of Wes' friends. What does the message say?"

"She says that William is fine and to meet him at the transporter station in Ellensburg in an hour."

"Ellensburg? William?" What?

"Ellensburg is about 38 kilometers from here. We can make it in 20 minutes since there's no traffic. Beverly, this all sounds very suspicious. But if you say that Sophie is one of Wes's friends, then this must be some sort of code. I wonder why Ellensburg?"

"Does he think he's being monitored?" It's not out of the question, at this point.

"Perhaps. Well, there's really only one way to find out."


	52. Chapter 52

We don't want to get our hopes up; we're still cautious, but our excitement is palpable as we strap Saoirse into the car seat and make our way to Ellensburg.

A lot of my patients are from Ellensburg, but I've only been once. It's a small town, like Yakima with a center filled with small boutiques and offices. The town is draped in darkness with only the street lamps providing scant illumination. Since it's not a large town, many shops and offices close early. Moreover, because it's summer, they close even earlier. There's almost no one on the streets this late at night other than couples on dates, or lone wanderers.

The transport station is dead ahead and both of us are getting more and more nervous. "I really hope that this is Wes," Jean Luc mutters. I grab his free hand and squeeze it in reassurance. Me too.

/

"Can I help you, folks?" a short, bald man emerges from the station's office.

"Eh, good evening," Jean Luc readjusts Saoirse in his arms, "we're just waiting for someone. Do you have any incoming transports?"

"Let me check," he waddles back into office, "Ah yes. We have an incoming transport now!" He fiddles purposefully with the control console and a familiar shower of blue light further illuminates the bright room and 2 figures materialize side by side.

Wes! Both of us are by his side at once, tripping up the steps to the platform as we try to contain our excitement and relief.

"Mom, Jean Luc," he grabs us both in a hug.

"Wesley!" I manage as tears come to my eyes. I must be holding him so tightly that I'm preventing chest expansion.

We don't recognize the figure standing next to him, "you must be Sophie who sent us the text," Jean Luc removes on of his hands from Saoirse's back to shake her hand.

"Yes, sir," she nervously responds, "I'm sorry that I had to be so suspicious, but I thought that you would understand. I tried to choose a name as close to Wesley as I could think of in the moment."

"Mom, Jean Luc, I'm sorry about having to make you drive out to Ellensburg. Uh, every communication and transport from Starfleet is being monitored. The campus is practically on lockdown."

"Shhh, kitten," Jean Luc whispers as the baby begins to fuss.

Wes smiles as he moves closer to the baby, "I'll take the fussy baby," he whispers as he lifts her small body into his arms.

"We were really worried about you Wes! We expected you to call or at least answer our texts!" I didn't mean to sound so angry, but I am. Jean Luc and I have been worried about him all week!

"Can we go home and talk about it?"


	53. Chapter 53

Sophie," I gesture to the couch, "please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?"

"No, Dr. Picard. Thank you. I'm really fine." She sits uncomfortably on the edge of the large sofa. I feel bad. I know that we haven't been as warm and welcoming as we should have been at the transporter station. And the car drive home was all but silent, bar small muffled cries from the baby.

"Beverly, please. Sophie, I'm sorry to be so brusque, but we're eager to hear why you called Wesley 'William', why we haven't heard from you," I look over at my son, "and why you had to transport to Ellensburg rather than Yakima."

"Mom, I'm really sorry that you've been worried. I knew you would be but I had no way of contacting you." He repositions the sleeping bundle on his arm as he continues, "Something's going on at Starfleet, there's a lot of gossip, and everyone has his or her own theory. I'm sure you've heard that Command is trying to make a military alliance with the Cardassians in order to intimidate the Romulans. No one knows really what's going on, but we all suspect that Starfleet is trying to plant moles in the Romulan High Council. And, we think that they're planning an overthrow in an effort to weaken the their government. Then, once the government is fragile, the Federation and the Cardassians will start attacks in an effort to intimidate and weaken the Romulan fleet." He turns his gaze to Jean Luc, "I'm sure you know that the Romulans have access to technology that the Federation would love to get its hands on."

"That's nothing new, Wes, the Romulans have always had a slight technological advantage over Federation ships. Not only did they developing cloaking devices years before the Federation was able to produce technology that detected the cloaked vessels, but their War Birds have superior warp capability!"

"I know. But that's not everything. There's something else and whatever it is the Federation wants access to it badly."

That's all well and good, "but why did you transport to Ellensburg and use the name William?"

Wesley gestures at the young woman sitting next to him, "Sophie is from Ellensburg. I had to think of something that wouldn't throw up a flag when I told Jeff, our Resident Director, that I was leaving for the night. So, I uh, told Jeff that I was going to meet my girlfriend's parents".

She must have seen our eyes open in surprise at the beginning part of his statement. She holds up her hands, "we're not dating. We're just good friends. We met a few years back when Wes entered the academy. We, uh, met at a local coffee shop in San Francisco."

She must really think we don't like her! Jean Luc senses her discomfort as well and chuckles, "at ease, Sophie." But that still doesn't answer our lingering question, "why couldn't you just say you were coming home?"

"I didn't want to make any trouble or draw any attention. We don't know exactly what Starfleet is monitoring and we just wanted to be on the safe side."

He's still confused, "Wes, you're our son. I don't see why it would draw attention if you were coming to visit your family?"

I grab hold of Jean Luc's knee, "Wes, what are you afraid of?"

"I just don't want to make any trouble for you two. Things are getting really bad and, like I said, I just wanted to be on the safe side. They really want you back, Jean Luc. They think that having you back will be instrumental to their plan. You're well known and you've even won battles against the Borg. They think that by using you to intimidate the Romulans, they might have a better advantage. I don't know, I just didn't want to draw any attention."

"Thank you, Wesley. I don't know if we mentioned it, but we spoke with Admiral Paris. We asked him if they planned to go through with denying you graduation and he said he didn't know. He said that Nakamura and Nechayev were adamant. And I know what you said," he puts his hands up as Wesley tries to interject, "I know that you said that you were going to try to find-"

"Jean Luc," Wesley interrupts anyway.

"No, Wes, let me finish. I think that it will behoove you to have that degree even if you won't use it."

"No, Jean Luc. Stop. Wait. Remember when I left here four nights ago and I told you I had to speak with some people?"

"Yes?"

"I spoke with the directors or two labs: one at California Technical and one at the Daystrom Institute. Both have offered to let me finish my degrees at either of the universities."

"Wes, I'm impressed, but uh-"

"No Jean Luc. I'm settled with my decision. If I were to graduate from Starfleet, I'd be obligated to serve for a minimum of two years – as you know. And right now I can't see that happening. I wanted to tell you that I accepted the offer from Cal Tech and tomorrow I'm withdrawing from the academy. Then they'll have no more leverage and they'll leave you alone. Please, Jean Luc, let me do this for you. For all of us. You've been more than a father to me for as long as I can remember and you've done so much for Mom. I know that you want to see me graduate from the academy, but that's not what I want. Please understand."

I didn't realize how tense my husband's form was until I felt him relax in defeat, "all I want for you, Wesley, is to be happy. That's all I ever wanted. I'm sorry if I pushed you or made you feel that you had to graduate from the academy to please me. That's never been the case. You make me proud because of who you are, not where your degree is from."

"Thank you. That means a lot." His beautiful boyish features light up and I can't help but sit back and enjoy this moment. My love for both of these men is overwhelming and I just can't help but wonder what I did to deserve this much love and happiness in one lifetime. I just hope, however, that this will be the end of our worries.


	54. Chapter 54

I've been up since 4am. It's not because Saoirse was fussy, although her crying was what woke me. No, that's not it. Usually, I'm well able to go back to sleep after a feeding. I think that I'm still worried about Wesley and this situation with Starfleet. It's been hard for Jean Luc and I to reconcile the organization that we knew with the establishment that we're dealing with now.

I've always looked to Starfleet as a shining white beacon of worthy ideals and morality. Their mission statement rings fastidiously with allegiance to honourable tenants of respect for other cultures. Her main goal is peace in her quadrants of influence.

Since the inception of Starfleet, her purpose has been honour. She refused to let her ships be cloaked in battle because she thought it made for an unfair fight. She didn't trade her weapons technology because she didn't want to encourage wars and strife on other worlds.

Everything that is happening is discontinuous with the organization that my husband and I once pledged our lives to!

I had always held this overarching view that humanity is, in fact, evolving. Like I've said before, I was always taught that life on Earth was the result of a random but propitious coalescence of basic elements and compounds. In spite of slightly incongruous logic, I believed that humans had evolved and that they are indeed continuing that process. I believed that our prowess as a species is augmenting and that we are becoming perfected. But those views are shaken and challenged almost every day. When we're faced with situations like this, I wonder how the human race gets along at all. At least species like the Klingons are bound by honour and duty to their world and their families. Humans, however, are driven by avarice and greedy desires. We like to believe that we are incorruptible and good, but we're hopelessly tainted.

I thought that Owen Paris would prove true to the character that I've seen him show in the past. I thought that at least some of the men and women that were attracted to the ideals that Starfleet laid out would stand up and say something and not allow such corruption and evil. But, it looks as though I was wrong.

I look down at the little girl in my arms. Every day she's getting so much bigger and before either of us knows it, she'll be leaving us just like her brother. Her light auburn hair is getting long and she looks more and more like her father. She has the most beautiful green eyes. They're mesmerizing, in fact, just like her father's. I want to hold her here, safely in my arms forever.

"Mom?" A family voice rouses me from my musings. I turn and smile. I love his voice and I don't hear it nearly enough.

"Mom, Sophie and I should leave now. Would you mind driving us to the transport station?"

I feel horrible about last night. Poor Sophie was so good to come with Wes and help him and I think she felt that we were a little curt and hostile. I don't want her leaving our home with a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Wes, Sophie, won't you stay for a while longer? Wesley, I've been agonizing over where you've been for most of the week. Do you really have to be going now? At least let me feed you both something."

I look over at the small girl standing next to Wesley. I smile. She must be a whole foot shorter than him and half his weight. Her long brown hair curls messily around her head. She looks a little nervous, "Sophie?" her attention is reoriented towards me, "I'm very sorry about the other evening. Jean Luc and I are so grateful for all your help. Please stay for a while longer," I look over at my son, "and then I'll take you to the Yakima transporter station. OK?"

"Sure, Mom." I smile; He knows from experience that there's no dissuading me once I make up his mind for him.

/

"So, Sophie, what is it that you do?" The poor girl was starving! I'm amused as she devours her breakfast with the voraciousness of a Tenerian house cat!

She takes a sip of her coffee, "I'm in vet school. I'm about to graduate this year and I'm currently looking for placement."

"Oh? Are you looking close to home?"

She smiles, "Trying to. I specialized in large animals so I'm looking to work with cattle farmers and sheepherders. So, working in this area would be ideal because I'd be close to my parents and I love the Yakima Valley."

"What led you into veterinary medicine?" Jean Luc asks over his coffee cup.

"Uh, d'you know Sam? He and his wife own the cattle farm over off Evanston."

"We do! We buy our meats from them!" The statement is true; it's a small world. But I'm always surprised at how small.

"Well, uh I worked with them for a summer before I went to vet school and I got really interested in their methods of raising and feeding their cattle. I'm sure you know, it's very unique."

"Mom," Wesley refocuses our conversation, "we really have to go. Can you take us to the transporter station?"

"Yes. Sorry. What time is it?"

"It's 7:45."

"Oh! Yes! I have patients starting at 8:30. We have to get going! Jean Luc," I turn to my husband and the baby, "what time does your class start today?"

"Noon. I'll drop Saoirse off your office at 11:30 before I leave for the transporter station."

"Great," I lean over the table and kiss him softly not before I land a kiss on a head of familiar coloured hair.

/

"Wes, will you please call me or Jean Luc once you've spoken with the dean? I don't think that either of us can go through another day assuming the worst like we did for the past week."

"I know, Mom. I am really sorry and I will." I feel a kiss on my cheek as the two leave the car, practically hurdling towards the station.

He's hiding something, though, and I don't know what. No. I can't let him leave.

"WES!"


	55. Chapter 55

"What, Mom, what is it?" He stops abruptly, halting his mad dash.

"Wesley Robert Crusher, what is going on? And don't lie to me!"

His shoulders sag in defeat. I know he was hoping to leave without me noticing. But, I'm his mother. There's too much of me in him and I know he's not being completely honest.

"Mom, it's nothing."

"What did I say, young man?" And then it occurs to me and I calm down, "you didn't get all those offers, did you?"

He shakes his head, "no. They're still deliberating over whether to let me join both labs. I just… I just told you that so that you and Jean Luc wouldn't worry. Everything at the academy is much worse than even I made it out to be. My professor who I'm doing warp field research – he's dropped me from the project. He told me that he was forced to. And, they've already started deliberation on kicking me out of school."

"Wes!" I draw him close to me and kiss his temple, "Wes, Jean Luc and I can handle not hearing good news. For goodness sake, Wesley! What were you planning on doing when they expelled you and you had no where to go?"

I feel him shrug against me, "I don't know. I was kind of hoping to have everything figured out by then. I'm sorry I lied. Do you think Jean Luc will be mad at me?"

I step back and look him squarely in the eye. "Wes do you know what Jean Luc called you when he was speaking with Admiral Paris?"

He tries to joke, "Wesley?"

"No," I whispered, "He called you his son."

Wesley looks shocked so I continue. "Wes, Jean Luc loves you. He's loved you for a long time and he just wants you to be happy. That's all he wants. I don't think he really cares about anything else. I know he doesn't."

"But Mom, when we were on the Enterprise, he was so stern with me all the time. I thought he hated me for the first few years. And then when the incident happened with Nova Squadron, I knew that I had let him down. And now, I feel like I'm letting him down again."

How can he even think that? This is none of his fault! "Wesley, when we were on the Enterprise, Jean Luc was a different man, and that was partially my fault. He's different now and you know that. He's not your Captain and you don't have to live up to expectations – there are none! And Wes, none of this is your fault!"

"I know, Mom. I know it's not my fault, but I still want to make him proud of me."

"He is. Stop worrying about it. Now, is there really nothing else that we can do to prevent you being expelled over this sham? Who else could we talk to?"

Wesley shrugs his shoulders and hangs his head, "I don't know, Mom. But I don't want to be in Starfleet anymore. Remember that incident a few years ago where I almost left?"

"Yes. Don't remind me." I shudder as I think about that incident. There was so much hostility between the two of us and I know how unhappy he was. I'm reminded of how unreasonable I was and how I treated him; I never want that sort of anger to tinge our relationship again if I can help it.

"I still feel that same way. There's more out there for me. I know that I'll find something, but I might need a place to crash in the meantime. Can I come home?"

I smile and muss his hair, "you needn't even ask. We always want you to come home."

I let the truth of that statement linger with him before I add: "And Wes, don't lie to us again; not about something like this. We're a famly now and we can handle anything that comes our way. But we have to do it together as a team."

He bows his head, smirks in acquiescence, and mock salutes me "Acknowledged."


	56. Chapter 56

**For Lindsay. I think she'll like this one. **

I'm practically speeding down these back roads making the mad dash to get to my patients on time. I'm steeling myself for the myriad of apologies for late timing that I'm going to have to make today.

I still have to tell Jean Luc about Wesley, but I'm glad that he was honest with me in the end. I don't think that Jean Luc will be mad. I think, if anything, he'll be sad that Wesley felt that he wouldn't be proud of him. Their relationship has come a long way, but I think that Wes is still a bit nervous around Jean Luc. For such a long time he saw him as someone who was unreachable. And now, even though their relationship has changed, Wes still wants to please Jean Luc.

The parking lot in front of the office is full and I am reminded once again that I'm late. I told Hope so perhaps she's already made some supplication for me!

"Hope!" She's in between patients and eating cookies in our office as I stumble through the door.

"Bev! Hey! Good morning. Listen, Laney Devlin and her twins are in room 1 waiting for you. Luckily she was running late too, so you're in the clear," she winks her eye as she hands me my white coat.

She hesitates before handing me the coat, "Should I be ordering a size up in this?"

I look down, mortified. I haven't gained any weight. I don't even think I gained anything other than baby during my pregnancy…. And I wore this same coat! What does she mean?

"Hope, uh, excuse me?"

"Oh." Her face drops and she hesitates. "Um, nothing." She innocently shakes the crumbs off her hands and makes her way towards to the door.

"Eh!" I throw my arm out in front of her, "Not so fast. Are you saying I'm fat?" Yes, vanity is the way to get any woman's attention.

"WHAT? No, Bev. I thought that you knew."

"Knew what?!" What is going on?

"You're pregnant."

My eyes are bugging out of my head, "Uh, What? Hope, what are you? A human tricorder? I'm not pregnant! I'm just late this morning because I had a situation to deal with concerning my son!"

She starts laughing, "No, you're definitely pregnant."

I hang my head in amusement, "Hope, as much as my husband and I would love for that to be the case, you are sadly mistaken. And I – I have to get to my patients before they skin me!"


	57. Chapter 57

**Just a quick drabble. I'll get back to the substance soon! -Becca**

I am in my right mind to kill Hope Durnsley. I have 27 patients today, I'm on my 16th and I can't focus one bit. Yes, I know, I know, it's a simple, quick test. All I have to do is take out my tricorder and check!

I'm not expecting to be pregnant. When Saoirse was conceived, I felt it. It sounds strange, but I had an itching feeling that she was there. And are we ready for another baby? I don't know why I get like this every time I think I'm pregnant; of course we're ready! We've been trying and trying. And now that I've gotten myself thinking about it, and getting my hopes up over it – I'll invariably be disappointed if I wave that probe and the tricorder scans give me a negative result.

"Beverly?" I jump at the sound of a soft voice behind me.

"Yes, Betsey?"

The older woman smiles and hands me a padd, "Your next patient is in room 2. Here's her chart. Oh, and your last two patients of the day cancelled. Lory Elblum says that she can't make it for her booster update today because she's waiting on a late delivery of 2 mares. And John Kinnabrent had a family situation come up so he needed to reschedule his physical."

"Sure, Bets, that's fine. What time will I finish today so I can tell Jean Luc?"

She quickly scans the other padd in her hands, "that puts you at 3:45 if your last patient is on time and she should be – Mary Travis is usually prompt! In fact, last year I think she was an hour early for her physical!"

I nod my head and take the padd from her, scanning it briefly. "Thanks, Bets. I'll call John." It's still funny to me that very few people here say Jean Luc. Most people in our town call him John still or John Luke. It doesn't matter and we generally don't have the heart to correct them. In fact, even I've just started calling Jean Luc 'John' when I'm talking about him with patients or colleagues.

/

I still haven't spoken with Jean Luc today. For that matter, I haven't heard from Wesley either. When he left the transporter station we discussed that he was going to go to school, meet with the dean, withdraw his enrollment, transport whatever he needed to home with him and then call Jean Luc, or me, to come and get him. With all the hullaballoo that's been going on this past week, I really need to go home tonight and find my family safe and sound in the house.

"So, did you check?"

"Huh?" I turn around to see Hope putting down her last patient chart on the desk.

"No," I draw a deep breath, "Hope I don't really think that I'm pregnant. I don't know where you're getting that from."

She smiles, "remember the first time you were pregnant?"

I remember fondly; yes Hope was able to pinpoint it that time. "Yes, but I was expecting it."

"Bev, I could be wrong. But you've certainly got that glow about you. You once likened me to a human tricorder. Let's see if I'm right. In fact, let's bet on it!"

This sounds suspicious -like poker night on the Enterprise. "Alright," I smile, "what are we betting on?"

"If I win and you're pregnant, you have to make a non-replicated potato salad for our next barbeque."

"What?" What?

"Hope that is possibly the lamest bet I've ever heard!" I was expecting her to ask me to dictate her charts for the next month!

"Nonsense. I love homemade potato salad but it takes forever to make and my recipe never comes out right. In fact, while we're at it, I'm making an addition to that order: devilled eggs. So, yes if you're pregnant, you're making homemade potato salad and devilled eggs."

I laugh and shake my head, "Oh, Hope. I honestly _hope_ that I'm not pregnant! That's a lot of work!"

She throws up her hands in mock concession. "We could end this all right now and you could just accept the fact that you're pregnant and I'll confirm it with the tricorder."

"No," I say with a coy smile, "no, let's go along with the bet. Now, if I'm not pregnant, you have to convince Jean Luc to come in for his physical AND he actually has to come."

"Oh, Bev, I really hope I'm right…" She chuckles. Jean Luc is notorious for evading his year physicals. On the Enterprise it was like pulling teeth to get him to come down to Sickbay for a 10-minute appointment.

I hand her my calibrated tricorder, "alright!"

She smiles, "I know that I'm going to be right," she mutters as she programs the probe.

Remember what I said earlier about time passing agonizingly slowly in moments of tension? These few seconds are _peeling_ by. I'm nervous and my palms are getting sweaty. I feel my pulse race as I try to convince myself that I'm not pregnant. If I convince myself I'm not then I can't be-

"Ha!" a big, smug grin pulls at Hope's delicate features, "Looks like I'm getting potato salad and devilled eggs!"


	58. Chapter 58

For the second time today I find myself speeding down the small empty roads, trying to get home as soon as possible. I'm anxious to tell Jean Luc the news; I'm excited to see his reaction. But, I'm also eager to see Wes. I need to hear how things went; did he withdraw his enrollment? Did he run into any trouble? Are we out of the woods?

I'm trying not to let myself dwell on this situation with Starfleet. It still makes me so angry that Wes is not going to be able to finish his degree all because of petty politics. In the back of my mind, I'm also a little worried because we haven't heard from either Will or Deanna in the wake of this recent corruption. I suppose that with Starfleet monitoring their communications, there's not much that they can do. But I hope that neither of them, or Data, or Geordi, or Worf - or any of our former colleagues! – are involved in this scandal.

They are people that I grew to love over my time on the Enterprise. In my eyes, all of them had upstanding character. One day I hope that we hear from them and we're able to get answers. But in the meantime I'm happy to simply have my son home, my husband safe, and to enjoy preparing for our next addition.

I never speed down our driveway. I'm always afraid that I'll hit something or that a deer will come bounding out in front of me. But today, I can't reach the house quickly enough. I see Jean Luc's car in the distance as I move closer and closer towards the house.

/

"Jean Luc? Wes? Are you home?"

I hear a familiar baritone with a familiar squeal superimposed, "In the kitchen!"

I drop my bag near the front door and make my way through the living room to the kitchen where I let out a sign of relief at the sight before me.

And what a sight it is!

Jean Luc has Saoirse sitting in the sink tub. She's got the biggest baby grin on her face as she flaps her arms playfully in the tepid water. My husband's white shirt and trousers are absolutely soaked but he's wearing the largest, proudest smile. Wesley is standing next to him, similarly drenched and trying to keep the holo-camera safe from the onslaught of Saoirse's aquatic attack.

A Cheshire-cat grin spreads warmly across my face as I try to take a mental photograph of the scene before me. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" I plant a kiss on my son's cheek before wrapping my arms around my wet husband's waist and planting a kiss on his neck.

"Well, Saoirse here decided that since she needed a bath, we needed to join her."

I burry my smile in his shoulder, breathing in his familiar soapy scent, "she certainly did."

I turn my gaze towards my son and I catch him taking a holophoto of Jean Luc and I. Sneaky kid. "Hey!" I put my hand out in tease scornfulness. "How was your day? Did you sort everything out at the academy?"

His own smile fades slightly as he puts down the camera, "yes. I did. They didn't say anything; they just let me walk out. To tell you the truth, I was expecting a fight. But, I think that the Dean felt bad. He knew that they were going to expel me and I think he had rather I just withdraw. It looks better that way. He said he was sorry, though, as I was leaving his office after signing all the papers. And he told me that if anything changes he'd do whatever he could to let me come back."

"Well," I shrug my shoulders, "were you able to transport everything to your room upstairs?"

"Yeah, I didn't have much."

I relinquish my firm grasp around a familiar well-muscled waist as I make my way over to my son and gather his wet form into my arms, "I'm just glad that everything is settled now. I'm still sorry about all of this, Wes. But, we're glad to have you with us."

I smile and look back at my husband as he lifts the wet baby out of the plastic tub, "Indeed," he says with a smile. Something in that moment passed between my husband and my son. From the atmosphere in the room, I can tell that things between them have been cleared.

"Well," I tear myself from away from the three of them, "I will take the wet, naked baby if you two start dinner." I start to walk away. Let's have a little fun with them, "and after dinner I have some very exciting news."


	59. Chapter 59

**And yet, I just couldn't resist another drabble. Hope I'm not boring you guys at this stage! Thanks for reading and I'll post again soon. **

"Hey there, Kitten," I whisper as I pull out a clean onesie, "how was your day?"

Her eyes widen as she looks on at me with amusement. I love her little smile and the noises she makes. I deftly undo the buttons one by one and lay the outfit aside as I reach for a clean diaper, "so," I start, "how do you feel about having a new brother or sister?"

I know she doesn't understand anything I'm saying, but she shakes her head and lets out a little cry of delight, "Oh really? You're that excited huh?" I laugh as I lift her arms into the soft sleeves of her outfit. "Well to tell you the truth, Kitten, so am I."

I kiss her auburn wisps not before planting open-mouth kisses on her chubby, rosy cheeks, "Alright, little girl, let's go tell dad and Wes the good news."

/

"Smells delicious, what's for dinner?" The aroma of basil and hints of cilantro waft through the house as I make my way to the kitchen.

"Pasta," Wes looks over his shoulder. "Mom, what's the news? We've been agonizing!"

I shake my head as I plant a soft kiss on Saoirse's temple, "so impatient, you two! Let's sit down first." To tell you the truth, I like teasing my two boys.

I've never seen two men set a table as quickly as I'm seeing! Plates are practically slammed against the table. Flatware is hastily thrown down. Glasses are summarily filled with water that spills over the sides in haste to reach their destination. And in less than 2 minutes the both of them are sitting eagerly at the table, like two little boys at a birthday party waiting for the cake to be cut. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't enjoying all of this anticipation.

"Well," I gingerly lower Saoirse into her high chair and then I very slowly sit down myself. I keep a deadpan expression, "My, this looks delicious! So Jean Luc, how was your-"

"_Mom_!" "_Beverly_!" I hear in tandem exasperation. I can't help but let out a small giggle at their eagerness.

Hmmm... How should I go about doing this? I'm too late for creative - and to be honest I'm also a little too tired for creative. Should I just come out and say it?

"Well," I begin coyly, "How do you feel about having another baby in the house?" I'm looking right at my husband and I see a brief shock followed by the biggest, goofiest grin.

"Beverly?" I see him slowly raise himself from his chair and in a moment he's lifted me out of mine. I'm flush against him, "Beverly are you saying what I think you're saying?"

I smile and nod my head definitively as I feel his heart fluttering rapidly, almost vibrating my chest. "We're pregnant," I whisper.

We don't want to scandalize the kids, but he can't help it as his lips open mine and he kisses me soundly, his hands resting on my abdomen as he symbolically says hello to his child. Peripherally I hear a whoop from Wesley and I break the kiss with a laugh.

"Congratulations, Mom," Wesley smiles and picks up Saoirse and takes two steps towards us.

Dinner lies forgotten, along with the cares and worries of the past week. There are still a lot of unanswered questions and a lot of hurt, but for right now – none of that matters to any of us as we bask in the love and the excitement that envelopes us.


	60. Chapter 60

"I'm still in shock!" His voice is muffled as he pulls his shirt off.

"I know you are. You should have seen the look on your face when I told you!" I reply, giggling over my shoulder. I love watching him when he thinks I'm not looking. Despite his age, Jean Luc is still extremely handsome. His diligence to his body is evident in the sharp, defined lines of his torso. His legs, though not bulky, display strength and agility. I love his arms; they're strong, but not heavy. Their lines are smooth and graceful.

He looks over at me and catches my stare. "What?" His voice is soft, but knowing.

We've had this conversation before. "You."

He cocks his eyebrow and turns towards me. My eyes scan his near-naked form, coming to rest on the object of my interest. A smile creeps across my face as he comes closer, "Beverly," he whispers with a voice tinged with passion. I tear my gaze away and focus on his now black eyes. I'm so mesmerized by him, my husband, as he softly twines his right arm around my waist. I feel him come into contact and my breath hitches, "Jean Luc." It's all that I can manage. And somehow, his name is enough. It conveys everything. His name is my benediction and my prayer to the man whom my universe centers on.

In that moment, I'm no longer capable of conscious thought as I move in to taste him. He tastes the same to me, no matter if he's just eaten dinner or brushed his teeth; he tastes like licorice and sweet red wine. He's intoxicating and he feels the same way about me.

I feel his warm hand move to the closure of my robe, still absorbing the moisture left on my body by the shower. The cool air of the room whispers across my abdomen and I shiver. He feels it and moves in closer to cover me with the warmth exuded off his body.

I'm under his spell as he backs me up to our bed. We're silly in that we must have over 15 pillows on that bed. Most of them are decorative. We complain almost every morning about how much we hate replacing them, but for some reason we still do it for the sake of the aesthetic.

I feel his hands at my bare waist, snaking their way over my breasts and up to my shoulders where he makes short work of the robe. I feel it inch its way down my body before he backs me up further and my thighs hit the mattress. I overbalance, momentarily breaking our connection. We don't need words here, but he's compelled to speak, "You're breathtaking, Beverly." I smile at him. I smile because of the effect that I'm still able to have on this man. I never thought that I could be loved like this. I never thought that such a man existed who would worship me the way that he does.

Our separation is transitory, though, as I pull him down to cover me. My lips again claim his own, relishing the feel of his mouth once again connected to mine. I run my tongue over his teeth, enjoying the feel of each individual one. I must have tickled his gums because he pulls away smiling, "Are we really having another baby?"

I smile and nod my head, "yes." I answer simply. He's rapturous as he kisses me again.

My hands move down his body, fumbling to rid him of the last barrier that stands between our joining. "So impatient, Beverly!" He adds as his hands meet mine.

Within seconds the obstacle is tossed aside, "For you," I breathe, "always."

/

"Wes?" I hear Jean Luc call from the office.

"Yeah?" I hear Wesley's characteristic footfall as he makes his way into the office.

"Did you see Saoirse's dummy?"

He shakes his head, "which one? There must be a hundred of them lying around!"

Jean Luc laughs at the veracity of the statement, "I know, but I can't seem to be able to find a single one of them!"

"I think he's talking about the pink one," I add with a knowing smile.

"No. I don't think that I've seen- was that the door bell?"

All three of our eyes meet one another's. We aren't expecting anyone. "I'll get it!" He runs out of the study.

"Uh, Mom, Jean Luc. I think you should come here."


	61. Chapter 61

**Thank you everyone for your lovely comments and reviews! I love hearing from all of you (makes my day). Here's the next chapter and I'll post the next one momentarily! Enjoy. -Becca**

"Deanna. Will." I'm just as shocked to hear the names tumble out of my mouth as I am to see the people standing there.

"Beverly, Jean Luc," Will nods.

Wesley seems to be the only one not in utter shock and the only one currently capable of speech. "Captain Riker, Counselor Troi, it's good to see you. Please come in," He ushers them in and closes the door behind them.

I realize how foolish Jean Luc and I must look. We're literally standing here speechless, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Uh, Deanna, Will, it's uh – it's good to see both of you." Jean Luc stammers. Saoirse seems to sense a disturbance in her home as she starts to cry. She's cranky, tired, and what's more: we can't find her favourite pink dummy. He repositions the baby on against his chest, "Shhh, kitten, it's alright." Unconsciously he bounces her up and down to quell her cries. "We weren't expecting you both. I'm sorry, but it's been over a year now..." I really don't think he knows what to say.

Deanna and Will look sheepish all of a sudden. "No, no!" I interject, "it's good to see you. It's just that we weren't expecting you. Please," I gesture to the living room, "please come in and sit down."

"Uh, Beverly I'm just going to take care of Saoirse's uh-" I can smell what he's talking about before he finishes the sentence.

"I'll take care of it," Wesley picks takes his sister, and whispers, "you visit with our guests."

"Thank you, Wes," he whispers, relinquishing the cranky one year old.

"Yes," he similarly gestures to the living area, "please, let's sit down."

I don't think I've ever felt to awkward in my own home. It's silly, though! These are our friends and truly it hasn't been that long since we've seen them. A lot has happened, however. But the heart of the matter is that Jean Luc and I are a little wary of Starfleet at the moment. We're also a little preemptively bitter that Will and Deanna didn't help Wesley – not that that would have known. But, still…

"Well," Will begins sheepishly, "I suppose you might be wondering what we're doing here after all…"

"Will, please," Jean Luc voices, his hands raised in peace, "all of us are very happy to see you. It's been too long for friends and well, we're just caught a little off guard. We were just about to start dinner, in fact. Won't you stay?"

"Thank you Captain – eh – Jean Luc." Deanna nervously stammers.

He shakes his head. "It's been a long time since anyone's called me that. But, uh, how have you both been? Where have you both been? Please, tell us."

"Well," a grin spreads across Will's features, "I see that life has been good to the two of you." He's evading the questions.

I look at my husband sitting next to me and grab his hand, "Yes," I say with a smile, "it's been very good. But," I don't know why I feel the need to bring this up. "Recently we've had some troubles with Wesley. He's been coerced into leaving the academy. I don't know if you've heard…" I didn't mean to sound so bitter. But, it just came out that way.

Will's head drops and he shoulders sag in sadness and obvious discomfort. He grabs hold of Deanna's hand, a gesture that does not go unnoticed. "Yes. We just heard. We're sorry. We uh-"

Jean Luc is just as angry as I am. "Do you know what happened? Did you know that this was going on?"

"Jean Luc, Beverly," Deanna pleads. "We're sorry for what happened to Wes, but there was nothing that we could do."

"What do you mean?!" I need to rein in my anger. I don't want to tinge this visit with anger and bitterness. These are two of our oldest friends, "I'm sorry, Deanna. It's just that we've had a rough go of everything recently with Starfleet and we're still a little bitter and angry about it."

I feel Jean Luc tighten his grip on my hand, fastening himself to me. "Why don't you tell us what's been going on," he states simply.

Will sits back against the soft back of the sofa, "well, I suppose I'll start at the beginning."


	62. Chapter 62

"After the wedding we left you two and received our new orders from Starfleet. Deanna and I were split up. I was given command of the Titan-"

"And I remained on the Enterprise," Deanna states.

"Yes. Well, the Titan was sent to the Beta Qaudrant on a mission to bring medical supplies to one of the most recent colonies on Xetrax 5. Once we left Xetrax, we were to head to another planet in the gamma sector and pick up the Federation Ambassador on Relan 7. The journey to Xetrax took about 2 weeks and to Relan it was another 4 weeks. It was a routine mission in every way. Then, we made the 6-week journey back to the Alpha quadrant to receive our next set of orders. And that's when things started changing. We started receiving new orders from Headquarters to take on extra photon torpedoes and head to Romulan border. We were told that we'd rendezvous with several Cardassian ships where we'd remain at the border until given further orders."

"But, Will," Jean Luc interrupts, "I'm sorry, but isn't the Titan a Luna Class vessel? What was Starfleet doing sending a science vessel to rendezvous with Cardassian ships?"

"We were wondering the same thing, but every admiral that we spoke to gave us the same response. They told us that we had our orders and to proceed as planned. At the same time, the scuttlebutt on the ship was that Starfleet was closely monitoring its communications; everything from personal calls to official calls to headquarters was being recorded. I couldn't speak with any of our former crew. Worf was stationed on DS9, while Geordi, Data, and Deanna remained on the Enterprise."

"Who took over the Enterprise?" I interject.

"Captain Randolph of the USS Yorktown."

Jean Luc looks at Deanna, silently asking her about Randolph, "He is a good man and a good captain. He had his family on board with him and was very protective of them. When we got orders to patrol the Romulan border he was very skeptical; he didn't want to put his family in any danger. And at the time that he took command of the Enterprise, as you know, there was relative peace."

"Uh, so," Will continues, "the whole crew was very wary; it was hard to get anyone to do their jobs! If you can imagine, we had 25 Bajoran crewmembers! And we didn't have any answers for them. Most of them were even reluctant to do their jobs if it meant that we were going to be aiding the Cardassians in any way. But," he pauses, "uh, eventually the cacophony died down after we got to the border and nothing was happening. It was strange. We were told to remain at the border until Starfleet told us we could leave or gave us other orders. We were nearly stationary at the border, with occasional stand-offs with Romulan Warbirds, for 6 months. There was no news from Headquarters. There was nothing." He shifts in his chair, "the crew was getting restless. They were hesitant to even call their families back on Earth or Vulcan or Bajor, etc, because they were nervous about the monitored communication. Every day was like living in some sort of limbo; we had no idea if an all out war was going to start. And then two months ago, we were called back."

Jean Luc and I look confused, "just like that?"

Will shakes his head with a confused smile, "just like that. We were all called back to Earth or given new orders."

"So what happened?" We ask.

"Apparently, it just came out recently, that a high ranking official in the Cardassian government was feeding the Federation false intelligence about the Romulan government in an effort to start a war."

Jean Luc is still confused, "I don't understand what this had to do with me or my family. Why was Wesley threatened?"

Will holds out his palms, "gossip and conjecture had it that if you were at the helm of the Enterprise, it would intimidate the Romulans and if we were to go to war, then the Federation could have used your leadership."

We know that Will is sorry about what happened to Wes, but his tone is decidedly nonchalant. "I'm sorry, Will," I begin, "but what did that have to do with Wes?"

He shrugs his shoulders as Wes comes back into the room, holding a changed and happy baby. We all look up, "did I, uh, come in at a bad time?"

"No, Wes," Jean Luc states, "Will was just getting ready to tell us why you were leverage in Starfleet's plot."

It's one of those moments where Wes doesn't know if he should stay or run, but morbid interest keeps him planted as he sits next to us.

"Truthfully, Wes, I don't know if I should be telling you this. But, uh, Starfleet looked at you as a liability. At least, that's the scuttlebutt around campus. Your research with Professor Mulphine was encroaching on a territory that they weren't ready for you to explore. I think that their threat was just an excuse to get rid of you. They knew that Jean Luc would say no to the offer. They figured that if he regretted his leaving Starfleet, he would have already come back."

"My research was on static warp bubbles and shield harmonics. We weren't doing anything covert. It was all just particle physics and wave frequency studies."

"Wes, like I said, I don't know the whole story. Everything, like you know, is up in the air with Starfleet right now."

"Yes," Deanna interrupts, "Will and I are even considering following in your footsteps…"

"You're considering leaving?" I ask in shock.

"Yes, we uh – we're considering following in your footsteps in every way."

"Oh Deanna!" My face lights up, "are you two engaged?"

I see them look at each other and smile, "yes. We are. And uh, we're jealous of you two!"

I'm not satisfied with the answers that we received, but I understand that Will and Deanna don't know a lot and I understand that they're as frustrated as we are with the way that things are going. So, I'll let go of my anger for the evening and revel in their good news. Jean Luc is right; it has been too long for good friends.


	63. Chapter 63

**Thanks for reading, everyone! More soon. Enjoy. **

Deanna sits back in satisfaction. "Dinner was lovely, Beverly, thank you. I have to say it's been a while since we had non-replicated food."

I smile over my glass, "thank you, Deanna. Looks as though I finally learned to cook after all this time!"

She laughs and jests, "I bet it's your rather massive kitchen that inspired the change?"

"Mmm, that and the availability of fresh meats and produce! So, Deanna," I shift the conversation, "when are you and Will getting married?"

She looks over towards the living room where the men are talking, shifting Saoirse in her arms, "Soon. We'd like you and your family to be present."

"Of course, Deanna. But…. You're not having a Betazoid wedding are you?" It's not that I have much to hide, and I do respect other cultures. But going naked in front of strangers is a little too much for my more conservative tastes.

She throws back her head and laughs, "God, no! I think my mother might be disappointed, though."

"No doubt," I laugh, thinking fondly of Lwaxana Troi; She is the most flamboyant woman that I've ever met- and she's got the hair and the wardrobe to prove it. I remember how that woman used to frazzle Jean Luc to no end! I don't know what she'd make of him now…

Her face becomes serious, "I still can't believe that man is the same Jean Luc Picard what was on the Enterprise. He's so similar, but he's so different, Beverly. I sense it. I sense it in the both of you. You're both happy. Your house is fully of joy and love. I want that for Will and me."

"You'll get it, Deanna." I promise. "What are you both thinking of doing now that you're not in Starfleet?"

The baby in her arms starts to fuss and I move in to take her squirming form. "We don't know, yet. I'm, we're torn, Beverly."

"Why, Deanna?"

"Because it seems such a waste to just walk away after all we've been through. If everyone who is disillusioned with Starfleet just walks away and no one stands up for what's right, then the organization will weaken and crumble."

I know and I hang my head, "I know. But Deanna, what can you do?"

"I don't know. Will and I have been down every avenue. We thought that his influence as a captain would be a little more far reaching. But the truth is that he's not as influential as your husband used to be. The admiralty has become closed-off. They used to communicate directly with the captains; now they're isolated and segregated. Even the good ones are unreachable. And, I just have a feeling that something's wrong. Every Betazoid I've talked to senses it so it's not just me. It's all so strange, Beverly…"

"I know, Deanna. When we were trying to get to the bottom of Wesley's situation, we contacted Owen Paris. And, Deanna, I swear something happened. He sent us this cryptic message through his aide and he couldn't speak to us at Starfleet. When he talked to us that evening, he called us from his home. He told us essentially what you and Will told us about the Romulans and the Cardassians. He at least was honest with us about Wesley's situation. He promised to do what he could for us, but we never heard from him again."

Deanna shook her head, "That's exactly what it's like. It's not the same place it was when you left." She looks up and tries to change the subject. "Are you happy with your work now that you've left?"

"Yes," I say certainly, "I'm joyful. I love my work, where I live. I'm, uh –" I don't know what to say, but Deanna knows.

"You're happier than you've ever been, Beverly. And you're in love." Yes. I am.

I smile back at her, "and you, Deanna?"

She looks down at her lap, "Yes. I'm glad that things are finally settling down. Will and I have been dancing around each other for years. I was getting tired of his dallying and my complacency. I talked to him about it. Like you two," she points in the direction of my husband, "we had a big long discussion and talked it all out and in the end we decided to get married and make a life for ourselves."

"So," I jest theatrically, "no roses, champagne, and horse-drawn carriages?"

She laughs and shakes her head, swaying her short brown locks around her face, "no. Not a one!"


	64. Chapter 64

"What were you talking about with Will and Wesley?" I kiss my husband's chest after late hours of languid lovemaking. I linger, breathing him in; I love the way that he smells. I've always said that I thought he smelled like soap, but after we make love that scent is enhanced and it becomes headier, sharper, enthralling. It's so characteristically him and I love to shroud myself in it; I love to surround myself in him in any way that I can.

His free arm moves over my abdomen and comes to a halt. I'm only 5 weeks pregnant, but he's still enchanted that there's another life growing inside of me. "I'm sure Deanna told you," I feel his thumb move in circles, "that She and Will are leaving Starfleet – or at least thinking about it."

"You sound tentative."

"I am." He pauses. "Beverly, you and I left Starfleet because we wanted to settle down and start a family." I feel his idiosyncratic gesticulation behind my back. "But I can't help but get the feeling that Will and Deanna are running away."

"Deanna said the same thing. She said that they're torn. But she also said that Starfleet is not the same place." I sense a hesitancy and I prop myself up to look at him. "Jean Luc, what is it?"

"I don't know, I-"

"Are you thinking about going back?" My stomach sinks.

He looks closely at me and in a second he is jolted to action as his body covers mine. One hand props him over me and his other hand moves to cup my cheek. "No. No. Not a chance. Beverly, I have a different life now and I don't miss that one in the slightest."

My hand moves to trace the furrowed lines on his brow. "Then what are you worried about?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'm just disappointed, really, to see all of this going on."

"Me too. But, in the end, it will work out." I have to believe that's the case. So, I say it, hoping that the words will make it so.

/

"Already?"

"Yes, apparently they're just as eager as we were," I kiss his neck as he continues shaving.

"Where are they getting married? Ow!" He jumps as I move away from him.

"Jean Luc?"

"I cut myself," he chuckles, dropping the razor into the cloudy water in the sink.

"Oh," I feel bad. "Jean Luc, I'm sorry. Let me get the dermal regenerator." I see his reflection applying pressure to the nick as I rummage in the drawer for the device. "Here," I approach his front. "Let me."

"This is your fault, you know," he breathes through a serene smile, his breath exuding the scent of cool mint. "You're very distracting…"

He tries to divert me with his hand at the closure of my robe. "Jean Luc Picard! You are incorrigible. Let me heal this cut first! Stay still."

For some reason whenever I tell this man to stay still, he takes it as a cue to be naughty and move around. Playfully I take his chin in my hind. "Still, young man."

The hum of the regenerator indicates its work as a small light traces over the superficial cut, erasing the abrasion in its wake. "There." His hand continues it's previous path. "Unh, Unh! First things first!" I smirk as I pick up his old fashioned razor, continuing what he started. There's something sensual about the feeling of the blade on bare skin. Using one is a delicate procedure. And when shaving a man's face, a whole other level of alacrity and precision is required.

Though I used one on a cadaver during my first semester of medical school, I've never really used a straight scalpel on an actual patient during surgery. During my wet labs, though, I enjoyed the organic and very physical feel of manipulating the skin with the simple blade. It took a few tries to determine the exact amount of pressure needed in order to make a good cut. Too hard, and you slice through the sub-dermal layer and into the muscle fascia, making for a poor cut and one that could endanger important nerves in the vicinity. On the other hand, too light and you'd have to go back and remake the cut and possibly risk a sloppy outcome.

Now, however, we use laser scalpels, which are essentially dummy-proof. They're good, though and assure a superior outcome every time. However, I feel that they take away from the drive of the surgeon to develop his or her own skills and finesse. I smile to myself; now I sound like Hope.

I slide the blade over the contours of his face, removing the soft, fluffy mélange of shaving cream in my wake. He's smiling at me, amused by my focus. I imagine the look on my face is one of amused concentration. As the larger segments of lather start to disappear, I step forward, now focusing on the smaller regions that I've left for the end. "Jean Luc!" In the heat of my attentiveness, I failed to notice how fully he's undone my bathrobe, which is now gaping open. He steps closer to me and I can't resist pulling away the towel fastened around his own waist, revealing what looks to be a painful arousal.

I ignore him for the moment, wiping his face with the towel that I removed. He closes the small distance between our bodies. "Now, where were we?"

I slide the back of my hands down his now-smooth cheeks and relish my handiwork. It's hard to think coherently when he's like this. "Uh," I fumble, "we were talking about Will and Deanna's wedding. And," I fleetingly regain my focus, "we were saying how we were going to take Saoirse and Wes and drive to Pomona for the wedding since we don't want to take Saoirse and junior over the transporter."

"Mmm," I hear his wordless agreement as his hands yank my robe off the rest of the way. "Sounds fine." He mutters as he kisses across my bare clavicle. I pull his face to mine, wanting to taste him, feel him. Within moments I've been swept up onto the counter, "Jean Luc, I have to be at work in 45 minutes."

He's standing between my legs, his arousal still painfully evident, "Uh huh". His kisses are tickling my neck and driving me to insanity with need. All I can manage with a breathy moan is "be quick."


	65. Chapter 65

"So, did you hear the news?"

I look around in confusion, "Hope, is this the part where you tell me that I'm having quadruplets?"

"No," she shakes her head with a laugh, "the news about Voyager."

My heart sinks. Kathryn. "No. What happened?"

"You seriously haven't heard?"

"Hope!" She's exasperating sometimes!

"They made it back to the Alpha Quadrant."

My heart stops. "What?"

"Bev, do you live in a cave?"

"No, no. We've just been distracted recently… We haven't been paying attention to Federation news. When did it happen?"

"The Headlines came in yesterday. Everyone was shocked that they made it over, what like 60,000 light years?"

"So, how did it happen?" This should be good.

"Well remember the Pathfinder project that was started a while back?"

"Yes, one of the Enterprise's former crewmembers, Reg Barclay, was the one who set it up."

"Yes well your man Reg is somewhat of a miracle worker. Apparently, he was able to locate conditions in the Delta Quadrant that were favourable to opening a spatial flexure that could be superimposed over a transient wormhole forming near Voyager's location at the time of the data stream. He was able to work with the crew of Voyager over the time span of a few days to give them the coordinates and somehow they were able to get through!"

"Wow! Hope, that's amazing! I'm so happy for Kathryn and her crew. It must be such a relief to be home!"

"I'll say. So, what time does your case start this afternoon at County?"

"Uh, Betsey just told me that my last patient is at noon so right after I see Mary Kinlan, I'll go."

"What's the case?"

"Well, now that you mention it… it's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Mmm, go ahead," she nods and gestures as she reclines in the chair, taking a bite of her yoghurt.

"Well," I plop down myself, "It's an interesting case. She's a young Bolian girl who's having transient oesophageal spasm. I've diagnosed her with a prolapsed transverse sphincter and in order to do the repair, I'll have to open her up because I can't do it with a probe. But, I've never done this procedure on a Bolian that was so young. And as you know, Bolians at 15 years of age and younger have poor regenerative capacity, so that leaves me with two options once I get her into the OR-"

"Are you-? Excuse me," she apologises.

"No, no," I gesture. "Go ahead."

"Are you thinking about going proximally or distally to the medial xiphasternus?"

"Well, that's what I wanted your opinion on. If I go proximally I'll-"

"Risk tearing the medial cartilage."

"Right, but if I go distally –"

She finishes, "you might nick the Melphisian Artery."

"Exactly. So with this procedure I feel like I'm between a rock and a hard place!"

Hope sits back and thinks for a moment, "Ok, how about this: don't take either approach."

I raise my eyebrow in question. "Go on."

"When you get her into the OR make a lateral cut right over the site instead of going around it. Right away you'll see that thin band of cartilage that partially covers the cardia of the stomach. Remember, we learned somewhere that it's degenerate and Bolians can easily regenerate cartilage. So, cut through that and you'll be right at the sphincter. You'll still have to cut through transversalis abdominosus, but it should heal right up with extended exposure to the dermal regenerator."

She's brilliant. "Hope," I smile. "You are a genius."

/

"Hi Mom!" I hear his voice coming from the living room as I peek my head in. I smile at the sight before me: Wes is sitting on the floor playing blocks with Saoirse.

"Hi, Wes." I kiss his head and move to greet the little red-headed bundle on the floor, "Hi, Kitten. What are you doing?"

"We've been playing blocks for hours, haven't we Kitten?" She just looks at us with big wide eyes, giggles, and claps her hands.

"Is Jean Luc home?" I kiss his head again.

As if in answer to my question, "Beverly?" My, he looks handsome!

"Did you go for a run?" It's rhetorical as he's in athletics shorts and a T-shirt soaked in sweat.

"I was just about to jump in the shower, join me?"

"GUYS!" We both start laughing as Wesley's hands theatrically cover Saoirse's ears. "You're scandalizing the children!"

"Mmm.." I reply dramatically. "I've already had a shower today… I'll follow you up though." I wink at him. He knows.

/

"So," I ask over my glass. "Did you hear about Voyager?"

"Yes!" I was going to bring it up earlier Jean Luc responds, taking a serving of the salad.

"I wish I was still at the Academy so I could have seen it!"

I reach over and grab Wes' hand, "I'm sorry you weren't there to see it."

He smiles to reassure me. "It's ok, Mom."

"Jean Luc," Wes begins. "When are we headed to Pomona for the wedding?"

"Well I was thinking we'd leave this Saturday. It's going to be a hellish drive, but I think that if all 3 of us rotate driving, it'll be more manageable."

"How many hours is it again?"

"It's going to be 8 if we don't have traffic and the motorway is quiet."

I roll my eyes. It'll be good to see Will and Deanna get married, but I'm not looking forward to driving for 8 hours there and back with an 1 year old in the car. But then I smile, "Jean Luc, are you looking forward to reuniting with Lwaxana Troi?"

He groans and puts his head in his hands, making Wes and I giggle. "Absolutely not."


	66. Chapter 66

**Short drabble. Stay tuned. **

"Wes," Jean Luc looks over we head out the door. "I earnestly hope that you've tuckered poor Saoirse out today!"

Wesley looks down at the car seat with the drowsy baby and answers with the affirmative: "I made sure of it."

We want her to sleep through the night in the car. Truth be told, we're going to be exhausted by the time that we reach Pomona. I had a full day of patients and Jean Luc taught 4 classes and had office hours for the rest of the day. Wesley's being at home has been a Godsend for us. He's able to watch Saoirse and take care of her during the day. And he's so great with her. He plays with her, changes her, feeds her… He's been trying to teach her how to talk, even! I hope that Wesley becomes a father someday soon because he's so, so wonderful with children.

I'm pleased with the way that things have been going for Wes. Once he left the Academy, Jean Luc was able to put him in touch with Professor Gerhardt at the University of Washington who's doing similar research on static warp bubbles.

As Wes tells it, he and Ron Gerhardt hit it off. And because of Jean Luc's connection to the University, Wes was able to meet with the Dean of the school and explain his situation. The Dean is a good friend of Jean Luc's and he took an immediate liking to Wes. Thankfully, the Dean is very gracious and is allowing Wes to finish his degree at UW. We're very, very grateful.

I still can't believe that Will and Deanna are finally getting married. They were on and off when we were on the Enterprise. I never knew just how things were between them until Will struck up his next romance with the latest alien species. Or, until Deanna began her own burgeoning, but short-lived, romances. I'm just glad that they're finally settling down.

"So," Jean Luc turns to me as we head out on the dark open road, "did Deanna tell you how many people are going to be at the wedding?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't heard a thing. I'd assume that the former senior staff will be there – I don't know about Worf, though, because he's now stationed on DS9."

I feel him reach for my hand in the darkness of the car, finding it and entwining our fingers together. He quickly glances back to look at Saoirse and Wes, and I see a smile illuminated by the bright moon. He nods for me to look: they're both sound asleep.

I sigh contentedly and look out the skylight up at the heavens. "The stars are bright tonight." I muse.

"Mmm, they're lovely." He whispers in reply.

"Jean Luc, do you miss being among them?"

His grin widens as he shakes his head. "No. I like the view from down here."

I squeeze his hand. "Me too."


	67. Chapter 67

Lucky for Jean Luc, we're running late on the morning of the wedding, leaving less time for him to be forced to interact with Lwaxana Troi. We planned to be a little late in deference to his wishes not to be hassled. Wes and I were only too happy to oblige. Yet again, though, we underestimate Lwaxana.

The crowd gathered at the venue is indeed extensive. We enter the wedding hall, looking for people that we know. So far, it's just a conglomeration of Starfleet personnel we've never met and, assumedly, Deanna's relatives from Betazed.

Jean Luc and I, though, are recognized. Muttering starts in the crowd as we make out way to our seat. Honestly, we hadn't considered the possibility that we'd be recognized. Almost no one where we live is aware of who we were before we came to Yakima. Most people don't even ask. We're so far removed from the life that we used to live. I remember the days where we were engaging in stellar battles and wrestling with deleterious spatial phenomena! There'd be days where we feared for our lives and the wellbeing of the crew. Now, though, we live relatively pedestrian, quiet lives. Jean Luc has augmented his renown in the archaeological community by publishing a few papers. But other than that, like I said, we're quiet, private people.

"JEAN LUC PICAAARD?!" A familiar, dulcet tone rings through the hall, drawing even more unwanted attention to our small brood.

I watch as he steels his face with the most benign smile.

"Oh Jean Luc! Is that you? You look handsome!" She grabs his shoulders and practically inspects him. "Not as uptight as you used to be!" She adds wryly. Wes and I just smile, enjoying the comedy. But that enjoyment is short lived as she turns to me. "Oh my goodness, Beverly Crusher is that you!?"

I smile and nod my head. "It's Beverly Picard, but yes!"

She claps her hands histrionically. "Oh!" She exclaims rather loudly. "I always knew that you two would get married! I just knew it! I mean I had serious doubts for a good while, but I always knew! As you know, Beverly" she turns to me, her hands still planted on Jean Luc, "well – I don't know if I should tell you this – but Jean Luc-"

He clears his throat cutting of her next sentence. This really isn't a conversation for prying ears and onlookers. She chortles, swats him playfully, and turns her attention back to me. "Beverly you look so radiant, but still much too thin!" I never understood how she could combine compliments and criticisms so subtly. She then leans into me and loudly adds: "And I suppose you're the reason behind Jean Luc's rather _relaxed_ demeanor". I really have no idea what to say to that. Saying yes would be too much so I just smile and get a knowing wink in return.

She totally ignores Wesley, thankfully, and the sleeping body propped on his shoulder. For that, I am relieved. The last thing I want is a fussy baby during a wedding ceremony. And we'll be lucky if she just sleeps through the excitement of the actual ceremony. Fingers crossed.

"Well," she moves gracefully past us "I'm going to attend to Deanna!" She starts walking away. I let myself sigh in relief; we're in the clea-

"Oh and Jean Luc," she turns back. "You and I have a dance later." She winks a second time and turns off, her dress flamboyantly trailing in her wake. I pat my husband on the arm. "I promise I won't let that happen."


	68. Chapter 68

The light music swirls around the room, enhancing the dim, romantic evening ambiance. Waiters make their way with plates of hors d'oeurves of mainly Earth and Betazed origin. The reception hall is characteristally grandiose. Again, I would have expected no less from Lwaxana Troi.

The ceilings are draped excessively in rich cream fabrics with an oversized chandelier at the centre. Tables are arranged circularly around a large, pristinely waxed parquet dance floor. The tables themselves are adorned in rich pink and gold textiles and surrounded by high-back off-white chairs. On the tables are mammoth-sized flower arrangements. The flowers must be native to Betazed because most of them I've never seen before. Their colours are exquisite, however, with hues of rich purples, pink, blues, and even some colours that I cant quite describe.

"Captain? Doctor?" Two familiar voices requisition us and we can't help but smile.

"Data! Geordi!"

"Hi, Captain, Doctor."

"Geordi," Jean Luc gathers the younger man into a hug. "It's good to see you. And it's Jean Luc now. And Data!" He similarly folds the android into a friendly embrace. To say that even Data looks stunned at the gesture would be an understatement.

"Ach, right. I keep forgetting that you're not in Starfleet anymore. Doctor, I have to say that you look lovely."

"Thank you Geordi." I blush moving in to embrace him not before I similarly embrace Data.

"Data," I step back. "How are you?"

His expression is, as always, nonchalantly deadpan. "I am well, Doctor. And, may I say congratulations to you and Jean Luc on your growing family."

I feel Jean Luc's arm drape around my waist. "Thank you, Data."

/

"Deanna! Will! Congratulations. What a wonderful ceremony." I move in to embrace our friends.

"Beverly! Thank you. We're so, so happy that you could make it. Did Wes and Saoirse make it as well?"

"Yes." I beam to the affirmative. "Saoirse's been popular. Jean Luc's been making the rounds like a proud, gloating father. And Wes, I think he's been enjoying talking to Data and Geordi about his research. We have to get going soon, though – we both have work tomorrow!"

"Beverley, I – Oh no." She drops her smile and stares over my shoulder.

"Deanna, what?"

She just points, but not before I hear:

"Jean Luuuuuuccc?" Oh no.

"Jean Luucccc?" I turn and see an even more exuberant Lwaxana Troi making her way over to my husband through the crowd.

"Beverly, you'd better get over there. Mum's been at the Antarian cider and uh – we'd better rescue your husband." Will says nothing and smiles knowingly as we hastily make our way over to my very embarrassed husband.

"Now Jean Luc Picard! Oh, I just knew it! You thought that you were going to get out of dancing with me this evening! Jean Luc, listen," This can't be good. "Listen I – I remember the time when you rescued me from that Ferengi by saying the sweetest things! I don't think anyone's ever said such nice things about me!" We've still not reached him as Lwaxana shushes any input that he might have and insistently drags him out onto the dance floor.

I hear one last weakened "Lwaxana, please – eh-"

"Shh! Nonsense Jean Luc! It's just one dance! It'll make me so happy. And that's what you want right? You want to make me happy. You even told that Ferengi that you wanted me to be happy! Oh Jean Luc…"

Deanna and I can't help but giggle. I don't think I've ever seen Jean Luc looking so rigid! He looks like steel pole as Lwaxana's slightly drunk form practically hangs off of him, lightly swaying against him as he practically holds her up. "Oh Jean Luc! You always were my favourite captain. And to tell you the truth – I always had a wee bit of a crush on you. Hmmm…. Jean Luc?"

"Eh, uh yes, Lwaxana?"

"Do you remember the time that I was on board the Enterprise and Bev-"

"Jean Luc Picard!" I put on a theatric air of scornfulness.

"Beverly I-"

"Jean Luc, I can't believe you! You promised me the first dance of the evening!"

"Oh, Beverly!" Lwaxana pleads as Deanna grabs her mother around the waist.

"Come now, Mother. Uncle Bazor is looking for you. He's been saying all night how much he can't wait to talk about your plans for his wife's 40th Birthday party!"

"Oh, Deanna, Bazor can wait. I'm dancing with Jean Luc right now!" She holds tighter to his stiff form as his eyes practically scream with pleas for rescue.

"No really mother, I insist!"

"Yes, Lwaxana – I have to insist! You've made me one very jealous woman." What else can I say to speed this process along?

"So possessive, Beverly! Well," She thinks to herself. "If Jean Luc was mine, I'd neeeeever let him out of my sight." Phew! The Antarian cider is bleeding off of her!

Deanna gives us one last apologetic smile as she pries her mother away. "Come now mother!"

I feel an arm snake around my waist as a grateful kiss graces my cheek. "Thank you. I didn't know where she was going with that last story."

I turn in his arms as he wraps the other arm around and folds me against him. "Hmmmm? I think my name was about to come out there. I almost wish I hadn't reached you in time! I'd like to have heard that story…" My own arms slide up his chest and snake their way around his neck.

"Will you dance with me, Beverly?" He whispers as we sway on the crowded dance floor.

"Yes." I smile. "Where's the kitten?"

We turn and I see a very tired Wesley sitting at our table showing her off to yet another of Deanna's relatives. I smile. "We should go soon. I think we're all tired and we still have an 8-hour drive."

He nods against my hair.

"So, what do you think Lwaxana was going to say about me?"

"Oh goodness, Beverly I don't know. Probably something that would embarrass me in some way…"

"Like?" This could be fun.

"Well… there was this one time that we were having a reception in Ten Forward. And, uh well, I uh…. You came in wearing this very..." his hands are travelling lower on my back and I cant help but smile. "Very lovely dress. And, well," his voice takes on a melodramatic tone. "I couldn't help but have – oh a thought or two-"

I cock my eyebrow and look at him. He smiles in response, gently replacing my head on his shoulder, resuming our previous position. "And she caught me with her damn telepathic abilities…"

"That's it?"

"And then! She had the audacity to mention it to me. Oh God, it was mortifying."

I laugh, imagining Jean Luc the way he used to be. I can just see his face in my mind's eye and I muffle a snort of laughter against his shoulder. "What?" His deep baritone whispers into my ear.

"Dirty thoughts?" I giggle.

He doesn't hesitate to respond: "About you? Always."


	69. Chapter 69

"Well?" I ask perfunctorily.

"Well what?" I feel the cool hem of my shirt replaced over my burgeoning belly.

"Well you know – uh," I struggle over the bump and my own unwieldiness. "Help me up."

Her arms pull at mine and she brings me into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. "Everything checks out, Bev. I did a fully scan and we aren't seeing any abnormalities."

"None at all? Because I remember it was around this time that we picked up Saoirse's aortic coartication. Are you sure that there's nothing?"

"Yes. Everything is completely normal." Hope mocks exasperation, but she knows that I'm only being cautious.

"Alright, Hope, I trust you." I smile as I pick up my white coat and walk out of the exam room.

"So," she begins. "How's Wesley liking UW?"

We enter the small office and I gather my purse from the floor. "He really likes it. I think he likes that it's not as structured as the Academy was. So, he's allowed to explore his creativity and working with Professor Gerhardt has even made him a little more confident. Personally, I'm just happy to have him home. I know he's 23 and doesn't want to live with his parents forever, but I still like having him around."

"You still haven't heard anything from the Academy? Nothing even from Owen Paris?"

I shrug my shoulders at the memory. "No. Nothing. A little bit after Voyager came home, there was a renewed interest in Starfleet and I heard the applications went up. At the same time, though, a lot of bad press came out about the admiralty and what had gone on with the Romulans."

Hope nods in recollection. "I remember that! I remember Nechayev, Hayes, and a few other admirals were brought under review for their involvement in that situation."

"Mmm," I nod, hanging up my white coat. "But, no news as far as Wes and the Academy. But, I don't think that Wes would go back after everything that's happened. Too much bad blood."

"I don't blame him." We shut off the lights and started to head out. "Bev have you heard anything on Kathryn or the other members of the Voyager crew since they got back 5 months ago?"

I shake my head. "No. I'd assume they were in debriefings for a good bit. I wonder what happened to the Maquis."

The night air is cool and I pull my jacket tighter around my body. "I don't know. I hope that they were pardoned after all that they've been through. It wouldn't have been right for Starfleet to have prosecuted them." I arrive at my car. "Goodnight, Hope. See you on Monday!"

"Night, Bev!"

/

"Wes! Jean Luc?" The lights are on and I hear laughing in the kitchen.

"Mom! Come in here!"

What is going on?

I see Wesley and Jean Luc sitting around Saoirse sitting in her high chair. They smile at me.

"She said her first word!" They beam.

My heart skips; I can't believe it! Saoirse took a long time to start speaking. Usually babies will say their first word around 12 months. But now, Saoirse is 17 months. She's been able to say vowel sounds, but not full words.

"What did she say?!" I move over to her and muss her hair and pick her up, attacking her little cheeks with kisses. "What did you say, baby girl?"

"Kitten." Jean Luc asserts with a grin. "But it more came out like 'kitteh'".

"Oh, Kitten!" She squeals with delight as I feather more open-mouth kisses on her rosy cheeks. "We are so proud of you!"


	70. Chapter 70

"OW!" I can't believe he just pulled out a piece of my hair! "Jean Luc this has to be the most superstitious and oldest trick in the book!"

He doesn't respond. He's deep in concentration. "Shh, Beverly. You're distracting me."

I muffle a laugh. "Jean Lu-" His lips affix themselves to mine, effectively cutting off all conversation.

He pulls away and smiles. "Shhhh."

He threads the long, golden strand through his gold wedding band, holding it perpendicular to the baby bump.

"See," he nods towards the circling makeshift pendulum. "This one's certainly a boy."

"I never knew the intrepid starship captain Jean Luc Picard to put stock in old wives tales." I poke at him, finding that ticklish spot just above his navel.

"Perhaps," he regroups. "But I'm not Jean Luc Picard, intrepid starship captain."

"No?" I smile.

"No." He shakes his head in mock seriousness, his face hovering seductively close to my own. "I'm Jean Luc Picard the husband of Beverly Picard and a very excited father."

/

"He said what?"

"He says it's a boy." I hand him the last plate to put in the recycler.

"It," I feel a kiss on my neck. "Is a boy."

"No. Jean Luc. Mom, it's another girl."

"Kitten," I look down at the eager toddler at my feet. "Ma." She stares up at me and I bend down. "Yes, Kitten, what do you say?"

"Kitteh" She smiles as he grabs onto Jean Luc's leg.

"See she thinks it's another kitten." Wes is trying to back up his assertions any way he can!

"No. I'm right on this one." Jean Luc bends down and picks Saoirse up, their collective laughter warming the walls of the house.

"Jean Luc. Last time you thought it was a boy. In fact, you were convinced." I remember that he was so certain that he was ready to start buying little boys' clothes. I think he had only boys names thought out in the run up to the delivery.

Wes leans back against the cool marble counter. "I say we bet on it."

"Mmm, I agree." Jean Luc muses, kissing messy auburn ringlets.

"You haven't even heard my prediction!" I throw up my hands in humourous exasperation.

"Oh, that's right. Sorry, Mom, what do you predict?"

"A girl."

"Beverly! I thought you were with me on this one."

"Unh uh," I shake my head over my glass. "You're alone on this one, Mr. Picard."

"Well, now," Wesley muses. "I suppose that makes this bet much simpler. I say, that if it's a boy, I'll dust Jean Luc's office trinkets."

"You were going to do that anyhow, Wes." Jean Luc laughs. "You keep saying that when you come to my office to do your work, the dust is making you sneeze."

"It is! I don't know why you don't just dust them…"

"I think it rather makes them look more rustic and distinguished, I'll have you know."

"If rustic and distinguished means allergy-inducing then you've got that right."

I can't help but muffle a smile at their playful bickering like an old married couple.

A stare down can only last so long before Jean Luc concedes, "Fair enough. But you'll also have to grade assignments during finals week."

"I'm only doing the freshman assignments."

"Done."

Since Wes started at UW, he and Jean Luc have grown even closer. Wesley spends most of his time in Jean Luc's office when he's not in class. He'll work on his assignments, write papers, and help Jean Luc with his grading. The bitterness that once tinged their relationship has disappeared and has been replaced with banter, laughter, and love.

"Alright so if Saoirse, Mom, and I win-"

"Kitten is gender neutral." Jean Luc tries to argue.

"For the sake of this bet, Kitten is female."

"Wes, you can't just arbitrarily make up the rules of the bet."

"It's my bet!"

I snort as Jean Luc roles his eyes. "Fair enough. Go on."

"Kitteh" Saoirse adds.

Wesley looks at the baby, "Saoirse, is kitten a boy or a girl?"

She smiles and points to herself. "Kitteh".

"Like I said," Wes gesticulates. "It's a girl."

"Alright! So, what do I have to do if you three win?"

Wes looks at me and we both implicitly agree: "take down the Christmas tree." We say in agreement.

"I was going to do that anyway."

"Without complaining," I add.

He mock deliberates in silence, leering at the oversized tree. "Done."

/

"Bev, it's the beginning of your 8th month, aren't you going to slow down?"

I look at Hope incredulously. "Are you kidding? Winter is our busiest time!"

Suddenly, a stabbing pain assaults my side.

"Beverly?"

I need to sit. Now. "Hope, I just need to sit down."

I feel a warm rush of water down my leg. Her eyes open in surprise.

"Bev," she slowly lowers me into the chair, but everything feels peripheral to the sharp, radiating pain.

"Your water just broke."


	71. Chapter 71

The pain is becoming more and more excruciating and I can barely speak. "What?" I croak.

"Beverly, I need to get you to County. Can you walk?"

I hear the words and I see her mouth moving but they're not registering. I'm in a panic. My due date is 8 weeks away. We're not ready for the baby yet. We haven't set up the room. Nothing is done. We've been so busy in the run up to the holiday season. There's still too much to do!

"Beverly Picard! Look at me!" I look up, roused out of my anxiety by the harshness a simple command.

I nod. "Can you walk?"

"I think so." Every movement is unbearable. I know I have to get up, but I can't. I feel hot wet tears building behind my eyes. I can't contain them as they spill onto my cheeks. This baby won't live outside the womb at 8 months without medical help.

"Hope, call my family." I collapse in defeat back into my chair.

"Beverly," She moves in closer to wipe the salty tears. "The baby is coming now and you can't have her here and we can't transport. You have to get up. I know it hurts."

I nod my head as I feel her small arms wrap around my hips, bringing me forward on the chair. "Hope," I choke. "It hurts." She brings me into a standing position. "Betsey! Karla!"

"Bets, will you start my car and call the hospital and tell them we're on our way? Also Bets, call Jean Luc and if you can't reach him, call Wesley. Karla will you come with me?"

"Sure." I feel another set of arms wrap around me and practically drag me into the cold December air. I feel contractions building. My body is telling me to push.

"I need to push," I mutter as I automatically start to bear down.

"NO!" Karla and Hope shout in panicked synchrony.

"Don't you dare Beverly Cheryl Picard! Don't you dare!"

The urge is paramount. Trying not to push is taking every ounce of self -ontrol that I have. "Beverly, you know what's going to happen if that baby is born now. The lungs haven't matured. You're going to have to wait just 20 minutes."

I nod automatically. She's right.

"Beverly," I hear Karla's soft voice. I feel her hand wrap around mine as I grab onto it. "Beverly, what did you get Wesley for Christmas?" I feel a hypospray at my neck. She's giving me tocolytics and antibiotics. Calcium channel blockers and cyclomeparone. Yes. That's right.

What did she ask me?

Wesley? Christmas. What did we get Wes for Christmas? I can't remember. Too much pain. Don't push.

"I don't know" I manage. "I know- uh- we got Saoirse-uh- a small rocking horse from LaBarre that Robert and Marie are bringing – Owch!"

"She'll like that," I feel a hand trailing circles on my back. I feel sorry for her other hand; It's being crushed.

More tears come as the urge to push is becoming any stronger. Do Wes and Jean Luc know? "Did you call Jean Luc?" I manage.

"We called him."

"Please," I cry. "I don't want to do this without my husband."

"Remember, Betsey called him before we left. They'll be there."

More tears. "They won't get there on time!"

"Yes they will, Beverly. There's a transporter station right at County. They'll make it."

I can see County in the distance. Please let them make it in time. Let this baby be okay.


	72. Chapter 72

Nothing seems to register. The pain that I'm experiencing is hellish and novel. It's worse than normal labour pains only because I'm trying so hard not to push.

"Hope!" I start, pulling at her hand. "Hope you have to be the one to deliver the baby."

She runs alongside the stretcher into the delivery room. "Okay." She squeezes my hand in reassurance.

"Beverly!" He's here. I hear that familiar voice. It's the voice that makes everything sound like Shakespeare. I'd know it anywhere. He's caught up with the stretcher.

More tears build and spill over. "Jean Luc, it's too early."

"Shhh.." I see him come to a halt and the movement on the stretcher ceases. He leans down and kisses my mottled forehead. "I love you. Don't worry." He's trying to be brave, but I know him too well. I know he's just as scared as I am.

His attention is redirected. "Jean Luc," Hope says. "We need to get you changed."

He looks back at me and kisses me again. "I'll be right back."

The OR is cold. I'm already cold and it's colder. I try to close my eyes.

"Mom," I hear Wesley's voice.

"Wes?"

He's holding Saoirse. "I shouldn't be in here, but we wanted to see you. We'll be right outside."

Saoirse looks upset. She's going to start crying soon. It's a wonder she hasn't already.

"Hey, baby girl," he brings her closer to me, "take care of your brother. Mommy's going to be ok." I give her a kiss as I hear familiar footfall.

"Wes, thank goodness you made it!"

"I got your message when we were in the cafeteria. I'll wait outside. Come out as soon as you can."

I feel a strong hand take mine.

"Beverly, I'm going to need you to push." Peripherally I feel my legs put into stirrups. I'm only too happy to oblige.

Jean Luc sits beside me, supporting my back as I lean forward and bear down. The movement is easy this time. With Saoirse, I was in agony for hours. I feel the baby in the birth canal. The motion is automatic.

"We've got crowning."

Normally, would be overjoyed that the end of the labour is in sight. But this time, I'm mournful. I know that once this baby leaves my body, its life is danger. As soon as it comes out, he or she is going to have to be isolated in a biochamber. Medicine is advanced and it shouldn't be a problem, but I'm still worried.

"Shoulders! One more push, Beverly."

The motion is easy. The shoulders are big, but my body is expulsive and within one movement I feel the body leave. Normal elation, languidness, and mirth are replaced by hurry and panic. Every minute is essential and has to be used to stablise the baby. Intubation is crude. But in this case, it's what Hope chooses to be in order to be on the safe side.

"Mac blade with a glidescope!" She calls out. I can see her visualizing the cords and gliding the tube easily into the trachea. Oxygen is immediately commenced. Corticosteriods are summarily administered to increase alveolar surfactant production.

My heart aches for my child. It shouldn't be like this. It's not fair that he or she is suffering. Jean Luc stays with me. He wants to be there, but Hope and at least 4 nurses surround the bio chamber.

"Okay. Let's get her to the NICU."

A nurse, Kathy, comes over to us. "He's stable, Beverly. You got here just in time."

Jean Luc's tear-filled voice manages, "He?"

Kathy smiles. "It's a boy."


	73. Chapter 73

**Sorry guys for my mistake in the timing. I wanted to have Beverly's delivery at 31 weeks, but according to the timeline that I had laid out – she was delivering at 36. I just wasn't paying attention. My mistake and again my apologies. I fixed everything – so we're in the clear. Thank you to who pointed that out! **

"No, Jean Luc. That's not fair. You should give her full marks."

"But," I look over at them through lidded eyes. Jean Luc scans the paper. He's so absolutely old fashioned; he still gives his students paper exams. He scans the white page, "she didn't really answer the question."

"No," Wes argues back. "She did, she just wasn't very detailed and she kind of went about it in a roundabout way. But, she still answered the qu-"

"Mama," I smile at the little girl perched on her father's lap. She's eating a piece of cereal and fumbling with the corners of his stack of pages. "Mama." She repeats. "Mamamama" She's in her own world.

"Shhhh, Kitten." He kisses her head and hands her another piece of cereal. "Wes, look compared to Cassandra's paper, this one just doesn't measure up. I mean what were you considering marking it?"

Wesley sits back in frustrated amusement. "You can't compare her to Cassandra. She's your best student! No, I'm not saying we give her a 100%, but I mean at least an 80%."

"I think even an 80% is pushing it. I'm by far not that hard on my freshman, but I think she could have done a better job and been more direct with her answer."

"So what do you want me to give her?"

I don't want to let them know that I'm awake. I love when they work together. It's been almost 2 years since we officially became a family. I know I sound like a broken record, but I love watching them together.

"I'd giver her a 78%."

"Jean Luc! You just picked that number out a hat!"

"Nonsense. It's still a good mark and with her other marks, she'll still get an A in the class."

"Okay. Fine. What about this one?"

The both break out laughing at the site of the paper in question.

"Wesley, I don't think I have ever had such a student! I don't think – Tanor, eh, I can't even read his last name, ever came to one lecture. And those answers! I don't think I've read anything so amusing in my life!"

"I know. He wrote, 'Minazian culture spread because of their enhanced warp power conduit and that made them successful.' I don't think that he knows what any of that means."

"Hey you three," I smile. They look up from their pile of papers and beam at me.

"Good morning." My husband gets up and brings the kitten over. "Hi, Kitten." I kiss her tired face. "mamamama" She repeats like a mantra.

"What's the word on the little boy?"

"He's stable. They were able to get him in time." He kisses me and lingers for a bit. "He's going to be fine."

I let out a sigh of relief and feel a weight press down on the bed next to me. "Hi Mom."

I take his hand. "Thanks for coming, Kid." I wink at him.

"Have you seen him?" I ask them. "Owch! Saoirse, you've got to stop grabbing Mommy's hair." I bring my arms around her and move to intercept her tiny hand.

"mamamama" She repeats making me laugh.

"Yes, Kitten." I kiss her again, bringing her back against my chest. She finds new amusement in the ring on my finger as she moves her little fingers over the diamonds and emeralds.

"Yes. We saw him. He's fine, just little."


	74. Chapter 74

"We don't have a name for him." I feel tears at my eyes as I look down on our little boy. He's ruddy and tiny. The biochamber is keeping him his temperature stable and he's receiving nourishment. I have a firm knowledge that he's going to be fine, but it's still hard to see him so vulnerable.

I hold the little Kitten in my arms closer and kiss her temple. "Bay-be." She says. A big smile emerges from the tears, "Yes. Kitten. Baby. That's your brother," I point. She leans forward and presses her nose against the glass.

"What about…" Wesley pauses. "Aaron."

Aaron. I never thought of the name before. It's a good name. It's a strong name. "We never talked about Aaron before. We were thinking Andrew or Lucas or even Howard after my family if it was a boy, but…"

"I like it. It's fitting." Jean Luc is wistful as he stares at the baby.

"It's from the Bible," Wesley explains. "It means mountain of strength."

I smile. Aaron. His name is Aaron.

/

"Well," I begin, staring at the Christmas tree. "Wes, it looks like you and I are on tree duty this year."

Wesley doesn't look at me as he stares on. "Yup… I honestly thought it was going to be a girl."

I turn to him. "So did I."

I feel Jean Luc come up behind his. "Wesley, should we take the baby upstairs?" There's something in his voice and I know he's up to something.

My suspicions are confirmed when recollection dawns over Wesley's face. Within a moment, however, he tries to act calm, collected, and serious, "Yes."

"What's going on you two?"

"Don't look at us; it was Kitten's idea."

Saoirse's lost in her own world as she ambles around the tree, amused by the golden bulbs on the lower branches.

"Kitten," Wes beckons softly. "Kitten," she looks up and smiles at us but remains standing at the tree.

"Kitten come over here. We'll open presents soon!" She's laughing for some reason. Her personality is so much like Wesley's when he was her age. She's quiet and amused by almost anything. Everything to her is wonderful and new.

"Wesss-" she plops down at the base of the tree and giggles. Wesley's amused by her use of his name as he saunters over to pick her up.

My free hand latches onto my husband's as I turn to him. He's holding Aaron against his shoulder. Aaron's time in the NICU was short. Unlike in the past where premature babies had to remain in incubators for a good length of time, biochambers enhance neonatal growth even more than a womb. They use a combination of intense nutritional supplementation and physiologic temperature to speed maturation time. He's put on 3 pounds and his lungs were able to develop quickly. He'll still need care, but we're able to provide that adequately from home.

A feature that I appreciate about this house is the layout of the second floor. The master bedroom is set apart from all the other rooms by a long hallway. Coming off the hallway are three bedrooms. One belongs the Wes, the other to Saoirse, and now one to Aaron. We hadn't arranged his bedroom before this. Jean Luc and Wesley were in the middle of winter exams. And the practice is at its busiest around Christmas time. Many of our patients are either just seasonally ill, or are coming in for vaccinations needed for travel. A lot of the vaccines needed for travel within Federation planets are given during childhood. But, a few of them require boosters.

"What have you boys been up to?" I have an inkling that they've gone and set up the baby's room while I was in the hospital. With a pass over the sensor, the room comes to life. My breath catches as I look at the wonderful job they've done. Saoirse's still using her own crib, but we purchased another one similar in size and colour. It's beautiful all set up. The walls are a creamy colour and a multicoloured rug brightens the room from below. A mobile hangs above the crib and I laugh at what's suspended on it: little shuttles. I think the mobile was Wesley's idea. A rocking chair and ottoman sit in front of the large window. It's too much and I'm overwhelmed.

"It's perfect," I whisper.


	75. Update (more coming)

**hi everyone! I'm currently in France but I'll be back in Ireland in three days. Was in Bordeaux and the wine region today so I'm thinking a trip to labarre might be in order! Stay tuned guys! Thanks for reading as always**


	76. Chapter 76

**Hey everyone! I'm back! So glad to be back with you guys and to be able to give you updates.** **So, I know this chapter is a little Christmassy... and I know that it's July... but you know - just go sit in front of your AC units, light an old balsam Yankee Candle and use it as an excuse to eat something highly caloric and probably bad for you and enjoy this little piece of Christmas fluff.** **If you guys have any little requests or something you'd like to see in the story, drop me a line. I'm always looking for new ideas!** **You all are the greatest. Enjoy!**

I've never considered myself a religious person. My roommate at the Academy was raised Christian; She went to church on Sunday, read the Bible, and was a good person. But, I never participated in any faucet of religiosity. I always thought that religion was a little passé. I thought that if God or any type of god truly did exist, he would be benevolent and not allow the magnanimity of suffering that is only too evident in this world and on others now, but more so in the past.

Christmas, however, is a holiday that I've always enjoyed. I never truly delved into the reasons for Christmas. To me, it was always a time simply when gifts were exchanged and family and friends gathered in good spirit.

I remember Caldos would hold the most exquisite Christmas festivals and services. The festivities would start in early November and last all the way up to the 25th of December. In the center of the colony, a massive tree was erected with lights and ornaments. Also, the main square was adorned with small, twinkling lights and the shops would play Christmas music that could he heard all around. The weather control center was always programmed around that time to consistently give us a white Christmas. To say that it was an enchanted time would be an understatement.

At home, Nana always tried her best to make Christmas special. I think deep down she always felt guilty that I lost my parents. I remember, I laugh to myself, that she would always choose the biggest tree, even though it barely fit in her tiny living room. She and I would spend hours decorating it, agonizing over the placement of the ornaments and tinsel. We'd play carols and make hot chocolate. And then on Christmas morning, no matter how old I was, she'd make chocolate chip pancakes and we'd open presents together.

I regret that we lost a lot of our closeness when I grew older and started the Academy. The first few years I came back, but after I got married and started my residency, we lost some of that bond that we once shared.

I talk to Nana every once and awhile, but it's not the same. I know it sounds a little funny, but Nana's changed over the years. She's different now than she used to be. I saw her a year ago and I sensed that something wasn't right. She's become withdrawn, isolated. She spends her time alone in her cabin, journaling and reading. I have to make the time to see her soon. But things in my own life are busy. Still, I feel that's no excuse when it comes to the woman who raised me.

A slight squirming against my chest shakes me from my own thoughts. I look down at the tiny baby nestled against my ribcage. I smile and sigh; we missed Christmas this year.

I feel horrible. We were supposed to have Robert, Marie, and Renee come and spend the holiday with us. I had it all planned out. I wanted to be able to spend time with Marie and get to know her better. She and I have spoken a few times over the comm. And we've exchanged a few messages. She's such a fascinating woman and she has so much wonderful wisdom that she's willing and eager to share. She's a trained horticulturalist and one of her hobbies is plant species hybridization. I don't know a lot on the subject, but as a scientist, the genetics and the reasoning behind her own dalliances in research fascinate me.

I also feel guilty that Jean Luc and Robert haven't been able to spend time with one another. Their past is such a rocky one and they are both such opposites. But, that's been changing and slowly, I think that Jean Luc has come to understand Robert a little more now that he's settled and has his own family. When Jean Luc left for the Academy, he was fleeing his home. He had a choleric relationship with his own father who was unimpressed with Jean Luc's desire to roam among the stars. Robert, I think, began to begrudge Jean Luc. I think he resented his audacity and his spirit. But, Robert settled into a comfortable life and married Marie and had Renee. They seem happy enough. It's hard to tell with Robert sometimes. I smile; if I had thought that Jean Luc was subtle with his emotions, I would have likened Robert to a brick. But, he's quirky in his own way and his excitement for life and his passion is evident when he talks about his family and his wine. His voice fills with wonder when he talks about different vintages that he has bottled and saved in his special underground cellar. He and Marie have been experimenting with hybridizing several grape varieties and dabbling with some subtle soil enhancements. They're anxious for this year's harvest to see how the wine will accent the newness of their crop.

I wanted Renee to be able to spend time with Wesley and Saoirse and now Aaron. Renee idolizes Wesley even though he's never met him. Wesley's been so kind in writing to Renee and making an effort to reach out to him. Renee asks about the stars all the time. I think before Wes' fallout with the Academy, he had been pushing Renee to start studying for the Starfleet Entrance Exam. But, now, he's relayed to me that he's become hesitant to do so. He doesn't want to discourage Renee from following his dream, but he can't in good conscience encourage application to what he now feels is a corrupt institution.

I'm mostly ashamed, though, because it's been almost two years since Jean Luc and I married and we haven't been able to spend time with his only surviving family. It's insanity! They're always busy with the vineyard and we're too busy with work. It's no excuse, though, and family should come first. Since I had the baby prematurely, Marie and Robert cancelled their visit out of concern. But we promised to see them in Labarre in the New Year. Now we just have to make sure that the guarantee that we made to see them wasn't an empty one.

I turn my head and survey the room. What a mess!

I smile when I see Wesley playing with Saoirse at the foot of the tree. She's decorating his head with discarded present-bows and he's doing the same with her. He's got his holo-camera and he's taking photos every moment that he possibly can. Jean Luc is just amused by their antics as he sits on and placidly watches.

It's hard to buy Christmas presents for Wes now that he's older. It's easy to buy them for Saoirse because she's so young. Truthfully, she doesn't fully grasp what a present is yet. But, she's so amused by the process of unwrapping. She's very tactile and active so and we tried to buy her gifts that would appeal to that faucet of her personality. But, in the wake of her opening the gifts, the actual presents lie strewn around her as she finds herself amused with strings and shards of discarded, colourful paper.

For Wesley, Jean Luc said he wanted to give him his own gift. He said he wanted to make it special because this was the first year that we've had Wes with us; last year he was on an away mission for training purposes. He still hasn't told me what the gift is, so I'm just as eager as Wes is to find out.

I got him an original antique warp engine conduit. I wanted him to have it just for its significance. Maybe he'll put it in Jean Luc's office and it'll be something that they can enjoy together. When he opened it, his eyes lit up. "Mom," he said. "I've only seen diagrams of this in books! Thank you!" He and Jean Luc spent the next hour marveling the old design and juxtaposing, in haute terms, what each of the requisite parts did. It was nice to see them so boyishly excited; they were like to young kids marveling over an electric train set.

Is it horrible that I didn't get Jean Luc anything or that he didn't get me anything in return? We've known each other for 25 years and we've been married for nearly two and we're already getting lazy in the gift department. It's not something, though, that bothers either of us. We're content with what we have. We're content with each other and the gifts that life has given us. Nothing material will augment the happiness that we've been bestowed. Our gift is one another and this family and that truly is more than sufficient.

"Papa!" Saoirse looks at her father and crawls over to him. He smiles at her newfound ability to say words. She's beginning to say sentences, but still her favourite words are 'Wessy', 'Mama', 'Papa', and 'Kitteh', which she says with great pride when referring to herself. She picks herself up and ambles over to him as he moves to intercept her.

Jean Luc is the quintessential proud father and he has been since the day that she was born. He's mesmerized by every little thing she does. He praises the smallest successes and overlooks all of her minute failings. Her temper tantrums are excuses for him to show patience and love. Her laughter is an incentive for his own. Their bond is one that I hope always remains. I never want Saoirse to endure the adolescence that I experienced; I felt alone as I ambled through without a strong familial bond. I remember being angry and sullen and though Nana understood, I know that I hurt her. I want this little girl to be shielded – though not overly so. I want her to avoid hurt unnecessarily. I want her to guard her own heart and I want her to hold onto what is good and pure for as long as she can. I grin at the realization of the fact that I know that she'll be well guarded by the three men in her life. Saoirse will always know the meaning of true love.

Even though Christmas is late this year and even though it hasn't gone according to plan, it's still perfect. It's snowing outside and the faint shadows of snowflakes dance on the dim walls. Laughter circulates through the room, weaving a spell around all of us. I look at my family, starting with the small, inquisitive bundle cradled against me. For a moment my ears don't hear anything as I watch their smiles. Slowly, the combined harmonization of their mirth draws me in and I can't help but mimic their joyous chorus.

Yes, it might have been traditionally imperfect this year, but to us perfection isn't defined by a number on calendar or Christmas card. To us, fulfillment is found in each other and the joy that is brought by us being together as a family.


	77. Chapter 77

"Hope?"

I look up from my charts. It's well after closing hours and we're still sitting in our office catching up on work. Being away even for a week places such an inconvenience on our practice. Even after two years, I am still baffled at how Hope ran this practice by herself. Both of us are now seeing around 35-45 patients a day. Our patients have a high degree of loyalty and our referral base is quite impressive. It's flattering to be so well sought after and respected. However, the increased patient load on the practice does have its downsides. For one, it's hard to take any sort of vacation without inconveniencing the other person. And, our hours are getting longer and longer.

"Hmmm?"

"What do you think about taking on a physician's assistant?" I ask tentatively.

I hear her chair turn as she puts down her pen. "I was thinking about that. Or a nurse practitioner."

We both smile and look down before continuing in tandem, "We're too-" I laugh and gesture for her to continue.

She laughs at our mutual thought, "we're too busy, Beverly. When one of us goes away, it's too much for one person to handle. Karla does her best, but her skills are limited. If we brought in a PA or NP, we might be able to increase our patient load and then have a fall back for when either of us goes away."

I nod, "I agree. So, where should we look?"

She bends forward, leaning towards me as she rubs her temples. "I just don't know if I want someone fresh out of school…"

"I know what you mean. It would be taking a chance and I want someone who's a little more experienced."

"Let's put out a few feelers and see whose looking."

/

"_Beverly! Shhh" _I feel him laugh against my mouth not a second before his lips close over my own. His tongue slides against mine, wasting no time. He tastes like he always does and, as usual, it's making me want more. The battle for dominance is short lived. For only a second am I able to move the tip of my tongue deftly over his left molar before he pushes it away – making it known that he's controlling this endeavor.

His right hand tickles my hip and I break the kiss with a laugh. I know I'm being loud. I'm going to wake the kids if I keep this up. Good thing, though, that our walls and doors are thick. But still…

"_Jean Luc Picard! If you keep doing-" _My words are cut off again as another kiss claims my lips. I'm peripherally aware that my pants are only half off and my shirt only slightly unbuttoned. His clothes are still on as well. There's too much in the way and I'm impatient. He's got my hands pinned to my side, but I belligerently push him aside – not detracted from my goal. His only response is to smile and let me achieve my aim.

I think I ripped off one of his buttons. Oops. The shirt falls away, then the trousers, and finally his boxers until all he's wearing is an amused grin and black eyes full of arousal. My breath catches as a look at him.

He's on a mission as well. I feel the cool air of the bedroom on my breasts as my bra is unceremoniously strewn to the side. My pants are discarded and join his in a heap on the floor and soon my underwear follows.

I feel myself. I'm wet. I don't want foreplay. I just want my husband.

_"Please, Jean Luc." _It comes out as a breathy whimper rather than a supplication.

These damn decorative pillows are taking up too much of the bed. Being propped up against them is craning my neck and creating an awkward angle. He doesn't want to, but he tears himself from me and a strong arm knocks the damn things to the floor, joining the rest of the carnage.

His erection against my thigh is straining and painful. He's hot and pulsating. He's not going to last and neither am I.

I feel his breath against my neck. _"I love you." _He whispers hotly into my ear_. _

"I love you." I want to say. But the words don't come out. Every sensation is focused on the center of my own heat and I just want to feel him. His hand moves down to touch me, but I push it away. "You" I strain.

Not a second later he pushes into me, filling me and pressing up against my womb. I cry out, once again thankful for the thick walls and doors. I want to last. I want to draw this out but it's been a week and a half since we made love. He was afraid that it would be painful after the delivery. He's always so hesitant after I give birth. In a moment I promise myself that Aaron is our last due to the sheer fact that I can't go that long without him.

I wonder if it would have been this way on the Enterprise. Would we have been this hungry for one another? Would Jean Luc have been this passionate, or would he have restrained himself? Would our duties still come first as we put one another second? I grip him harder as these questions run through the back of my mind. I hold onto him firmly as the flat pane of my stomach rubs almost painfully against his.

I'm on the edge and finally I tumble over, bringing him with me as my muscles contract all around him. His breath is wet and hot against my ear. He's whispering words in French like he always does. I don't understand all of them, but they're incredibly erotic. Secondarily I feel a warm bead of moisture hit my shoulder and I realize that he's crying. He's as overwhelmed as I am. We've ridden through a rollercoaster of emotions these past few weeks and through it all we've held onto each other. He's me rock, my refuge, and I'm his. My life's storms are weathered in his arms and in his embrace.

_"I love you"_ I finally manage against his chest. It's the first time I've been able to speak this evening since I came home.

Hope and I stayed at the office until late; Wes and the babies were asleep when I walked in the door at 10. No words were exchanged between my husband and I as he came to the foyer to greet me. I looked at him and he knew; he looked at me and I knew that this evening was not one for long discussions of our day. Food was forgotten as I claimed his lips, devouring him instead. We hastily made it to the bedroom and here we are. Sated. Loved. Assured.

And with the utterance of three banal little words, sleep is met and our bodies prepare themselves for another day.


	78. Chapter 78

** Hi everyone! Thank you all for leaving such lovely reviews. I truly appreciate hearing from you. I hope that you are all enjoying the story. If you have any ideas or you want to see something or for me to touch on something, drop me a line and let me know! Lindsay, I think that you will appreciate this chapter! More to come, everyone, so stay tuned! Next stop, Labarre. **

"Laurie, you going to get a veritable baptism in the next two weeks!" I laugh. But, truthfully even though Laurie is a well-seasoned nurse practitioner, I'm still worried about partially leaving the practice with her for the next few weeks.

Hope and I put feelers out a couple of weeks ago for a new nurse practitioner. Honestly, I didn't think that we'd find anyone who would meet our specifications. But, then last week as Hope and I were getting ready to leave, a lovely woman named Laurie paid us a visit.

Laurie is an older woman who has worked as a nurse practitioner for 36 years. She's married, has a few children, and lives locally. Though she'd heard of our practice, she worked at St. Augustine's Memorial Hospital, 40 minutes away. When she heard that we were looking for a new associate, she was eager to speak with us. 40 minutes is a long drive to make each day and she wanted a change of pace. Hope and I were overjoyed because she was the first that responded to our feeler and she was a good fit.

This week, Hope is going to visit her in-laws with her family. Her father-in-law is a sculptor in Seattle. This coming week he is being honored by the prestigious Seattle Art Board for outstanding contribution to the Seattle Artist's Community. Hope, Gregg, and the kids are going up to join the celebration. We've re-scheduled all of her new patients and we're leaving Laurie with the follow-ups. And, to complicate things, next week is the college's spring break and Jean Luc and I are making good on our promise to visit Robert and Marie and Renee in Labarre for a few days. I am so glad that we are finally getting to go visit them! It's the first time that we are going to see them in almost two years and I'm excited to go back to France and be reunited. Wesley will finally be able to meet Renee and the babies and I'll finally be able to properly spend time with Robert and Marie.

I hear Laurie's laughter behind me. "Don't worry, Beverly. The practice will be in good hands! I won't let anything happen!"

/

"Beverly, how do you want to get to Labarre?"

I look up, "Get?"

"I, uh," he looks up from the stove. "I don't think I want to use to transporter with Aaron." He looks sheepish, and I can't help but smile at his cautiousness.

"Then we'll take a shuttle! I don't mind how we get there. What time are we leaving on Friday morning?"

"Would 7 be too early? That would put us in Labarre at noon. Would you pass me the pepper?"

Automatically my hand reaches for the shaker, "How are we getting to the vineyard?"

"Do you want a lot of pepper or a little?"

I look over in the pan, "A little. I know you and the kids like spicy, but sometimes it gives me indigestion." He doesn't answer my question as he's caught in the act of cooking – an activity that he takes more pleasure in than I do. "Jean Luc?"

"Hmm?"

I laugh, "You didn't answer my question – how are we getting to the vineyard?"

"Oh! Sorry. I was going to rent a ground car. We can bring Aaron and Saoirse's car seats with us. It's a little over an hour's drive from the shuttle station right outside Bordeaux city proper to the vineyard."

I kiss his neck, tasting his cologne as I pull plates down from the cabinet, "sounds good."

/

"Wesley!" I hear Jean Luc call out from the living room.

"I'll be right there! I'm just packing Saoirse's little bag-" his voice comes closer to the living room and I grin when I hear him say: "Saoirse keeps insisting that I pack all of her stuffed animals in her little bag. Every time I tell her to only pick two she looks like she's going to cry!"

"All!" I hear her little voice demand.

"No, Saoirse, only two! How about Kitty and Mosby?" Mosby is her little penguin. Although now he looks more like a sparrow; his little white tufted belly has been lovingly coloured brown by all the dirt he's been dragged through when Saoirse traipses through the back yard. You should see her! A little girl with a big penguin dragged behind her! And she's very protective of Mr. Mosby; She won't let us wash him because she thinks he'll drown. We've tried to tell her that penguins can swim, but she's adamant every time.

I don't hear her respond but I can just see her shaking her head stubbornly. Oh that Howard temper! Jean Luc's voice fills the momentary silence. "I have something for you, Wes."

"Oh?" I hear him inquire as I wipe my hands and move into the doorway, looking on at the four of them sitting in the living room. Aaron is asleep in his cradle at Jean Luc's feet, sleeping soundly after his own dinner. Jean Luc is almost completely surrounded by papers and books. He's writing a new set of research papers that several of his students are helping to compile the research for. He keeps telling me that he's truly enjoying working with his older students on the project. Getting different perspectives on history and ancient people's is one thing that excites Jean Luc. He says it really allows the students to explore a different kind of wonder and creativity.

I see Wes smile and roll his eyes. Saoirse's latched onto his shoulders and he's pulling his hair. "What is it? Ow, Saoirse! What is it with you and pulling people's hair?!" She just giggles and butts her little head against the side of his neck.

Jean Luc is amused at the sight standing before him, "Come here, Kitten!" He holds out his arms and Wesley angles his body to allow Jean Luc to pry her off of him.

"Papapa" Saoirse begins as she falls against his hard chest, red curls tumbling messily around her head creating a halo.

I don't want to intrude, so I stand back, enveloped in the shadow of the darkened kitchen. "Do you need help with the Freshman essays? You know, I've been thinking that we need to start correcting for grammer-" he holds up his hands as he moves a stack of papers and sits next to Jean Luc and Saorise. He continues, "I know you keep saying that it's not your job to be an English teacher as well, but Jean Luc some of these kids really don't know the difference between a comma and a period! It's frustrating to read their essays sometimes... Jean Luc?"

Jean Luc is fidgeting for something, not truly paying attention to what Wes just said. He does that when he's deep in thought. "Hmm?" He's found his object of interest: a small box. I can't make out the details from where I'm standing, but it looks old and well worn.

Wesley knows. He's been around Jean Luc too long now not to have memorized his small ticks and idiosyncrasies. When we're alone, he loves to tell me about all the silly things that Jean Luc does in his office that he thinks Wes doesn't notice, like his pathological obsession with keeping his pens and pencils separate. And there was this one time, I remember, where Wes came home and told me about this ridiculous argument that Jean Luc had with one of the other professors in the department over the making of earl grey tea. Apparently, the two men got into a heated debate over the best way to prepare the tea. Wesley laughed so hard while he regaled to me the ferocity with which Jean Luc defended the formulation of the beverage from cool filtered water, a clean boiler, and fresh loose leaves. The other professor, apparently, oh-so-crassly argued that tea bags tasted no different than fresh leaves. Jean Luc, purportedly, was aghast and the argument went on for 45 minutes. By the end of the story I had tears in my eyes because I was laughing so hard.

"Papapa" I see little Saoirse break his reverie as she pulls on his shirt. He smiles down at her little face and kisses her delicate nose.

"Wes, as you remember, I still owe you a Christmas gift." I see half of his smile and I hear it in his voice.

"Oh, Jean Luc! Really… No. You don't have to give me anything! You and mom already gave me the conduit! That was enough!"

"Shh! Wes, please let me continue." He hands him the small, wooden box. "I wanted to give you this before we leave for Labarre tomorrow. I, well, I asked Robert for it and he was only too happy to give it to me for you."

Wesley admires the box, feeling the edges and running his fingers over the delicate carvings. "What is it?"

"Open it."

I can't see what it is from over here, but the look of wonder on Wesley's face tells me that it's quite special.

"Jean Luc?" He looks up.

Jean Luc repositions Saoirse in his lap. She preoccupied with her stuffed kitten that she found on the couch. "It's a family heirloom. It's traditionally given to the oldest male heir in the family."

Wesley's eyebrow cocks up, "I'm confused. Renee is the oldest Picard child…"

Jean Luc shakes his head and the emotion of what is happening touches my heart so much that silent tears spill over my cheeks.

"No, Wes. You are. I know that you're not a Picard by blood and I in no way am trying to replace your father or take away from the fact that you are indeed a Crusher. But, uh, I've always considered you my son. From the time that you were a little boy, I…" he fumbles, "I had always wished that maybe you were, uh, mine."

Wesley doesn't cry often. It's not that he's not emotional – he is – but he's just not given to crying. But right now, I see his eyes become glassy and a small tear amble down his own cheek as he's touched by Jean Luc's gesture.

He continues, "I know that I'll never replace Jack and I don't ever want you to think that I'm trying to. But, to me, you are a Picard and I want you to know that. I want you to know that my family is your family and will always be. You'll always belong to us."

They stay in silence for a few moments, neither moving nor speaking. Even Saoirse stays silent, quietly toying with her plush kitten.

"I don't know what to say, Jean Luc." He picks the compass out of the box and marvels at its antique simplicity. "I know that we don't often talk about the past. But, I've always looked on you as my father. I don't really remember Jack Crusher. He's always been a faded memory to me. I know that he's my father, but the closest that I got to him was in a vision while we were on Dorvan V. But you -even though we've had somewhat of a harried relationship in the past – you've always been a role model to me and someone that I look up to." He shifts in his seat, "You're a good man and a good father and you've always been there for me, giving me advice and supporting me. Sometimes –" he chortles nervously, "sometimes, I absolutely hated you for that advice and I resented how hard you were on me. But, I always knew it was for a purpose. I always knew that you wanted the best for me." He looks down and smoothes his fingers over the compass that's cradled in his hand. "Thank you. I don't know what else to say, but thank you and," He looks up and their eyes meet meaningfully, and he whispers, "and I do love you, a lot."


	79. Chapter 79

"Wes!" I call, "Wesley – we're going to be late to the shuttle station!"

"Coming! Coming!" I look over at Jean Luc. He's out the door and I catch his grin and his eye roll as I tap my foot, waiting for Wes and Saoirse. I hear him call, "we're looking for the kitty!"

I look around the living room, spotting it on the couch, "On the couch!"

Loud footsteps and a rush of red and brown make their way into the living room and in a moment join us on the steps.

"Kitty," Saoirse says with delight as she hugs the plush black and white kitten.

"Ready?" Jean Luc asks exasperatedly.

"Ready, Kitten?" I kiss golden ringlets and elicit a giggle. She nods her head and we head to the car.

/

"What's it like in Labarre in April?" Wesley asks, staring out the window of the shuttle. We're flying low enough to see the terrain change beneath us. I've love watching the scenery change from lush, American forest to parched Nevada sands and then back to forest and plains of the Midwest. Travelling at such high speeds blends the terrain seamlessly and makes the distance seem inconsequential.

Jean Luc sits back into the comfortable chair, "It's been a while since I was there. But, I remember it was quite warm. In the Bordeaux region it truly never gets too cold. I think in the winter the coldest it would get was 7 C, but right now it should be quite lovely. Not too warm, not cold." He laughs, "quite a change from freezing Yakima."

"Indeed," Wesley intones, mirroring Jean Luc's favourite expression of agreement and eliciting a teasing grin.

/

I must have fallen asleep, I surmise, as I am groggily woken by hushed laughter.

"He what?!" Wesley's voice is incredulous.

"I'm serious. I couldn't believe it myself when he did it. I spent the greater part of that year plotting revenge."

"Did you finally get him back?"

Before I see his devious grin, I hear it in his voice. "Oh yes. In spades."

"Are you going to keep me in suspense?"

"Well," Jean Luc begins theatrically, "I spread a horrible rumor about him in school. Oh," he pauses, "it really was horrible and now thinking back on it, it was terribly, terribly juvenile-"

"Well?"

"I told the whole school that he was a bed-wetter."

I hear my son's laughter filled words as he tries to choke out a, "you did not!"

I look over at them through sleepy eyes as a grin tugs at my own mouth. I don't know that much about Jean Luc's childhood. I also didn't know how devious he was! This is a whole new side of my husband that I am eager to get to know, if for no other reason than to amuse myself. He knows I'm awake as he leans over and kisses my cheek.

"Oh, Jean Luc…" Wesley continues. "I have a feeling there is a lot that I don't know about you that Robert will be more than happy to share!"

I hear a groan next to me and then I see an eye roll, "let's hope he's conveniently forgotten most of it!"

/

"What's that Saoirse?" Wesley points out the window to a stubby palm tree as we drive slowly away from the transport station. It's warm today and the windows are down. From the side mirror of the car I see the reflection of Saoirse seated on Wesley's lap looking out the open window. Her hair wisps in the wind and grin graces her ruddy cheeks. She shakes her head; she's never seen a palm tree.

"Tree" Wes intones. She looks at him and giggles, "twee" she repeats. We've been trying to get her to enunciate her R's, but I think due to her age, the W has firmly taken its place.

My eyes scan the rest of the car as the laughter from the back seat asserts itself like music. Jean Luc looks relaxed, but a hint of apprehension is evident around his eyes. I pry a hand away from the armrest, "Hey" he glances at me.

"Hey," he smiles back as he keeps his attention on the road.

"Why are you nervous?" I ask quietly.

"I'm nervous about seeing them again. It's silly really, Beverly. They're our family. I suppose it's just jitters. I don't want to get into any fights with my brother."

I nod my head. "You wont." I say with certainty. "Three years ago, yes. But you and he are different now, Jean Luc. Everything's changed." I hold on to his hand a little tighter. All he needed was reassurance as the worry lines from his eyes disappear and he's more open to the scene before him.

It's just as perfect as I remember. We've left the city limits and miles and miles of green, rolling hills envelope us. Large, and small homes are surrounded by rows and rows of vineyard. Low-rising rough stone fences demarcate the land between the properties. Colourfully decorated signs indicate the names of the different wineries. Some of the names I've seen, others are lovely oddities that I try to make mental note of.

The sun bleeds in through the open windows of the car and warms my shoulders. I breathe in the choppy air and pick up the subtle smell of violets and lavender. It smells just like I remember and a smile plants itself on my face. We're silent now, even little Aaron who was so fussy not too long ago, as we enjoy the solitude of the road and the sensorial feast before us.

The surroundings are familiar now. I remember this particular winery sign. My French is only intermediate, so I'm not even going to try to pronounce the name. But, its colours are distinctive; it is painted in warm hues of red and gold and a strange symbol is perched in the upper left corner. Now, I see the beginning of the Picard vineyard in the distance and soon enough the grandiose chateau comes into view. Wesley insinuates himself between the two of us between the gap in the two front seats.

"Is that your home?" He asks in wonder.

Jean Luc smiles, "that it is."


	80. Chapter 80

** Part 1 of the Labarre experience. If there's anything you want to happen in Labarre, let me know! Nothing is set in stone yet. -Becca**

They must have heard the car, or seen it coming from the distance, but as the car approaches the house along the windy, dirt road I see the family hurrying out to greet us. A grin as big as can be is spread over Jean Luc's face. And I can see that the same smile is reflected in Robert.

Before the car comes to a halt, I see an eager young man sprint to Wesley's door with a look of pure excitement. "Wesley!" He shouts. I see Wes' reflection wave and return his smile.

"Mon frère!" I hear deep tone exclaim as Jean Luc opens his door.

"Beverly!" Before my door is shut, I've been enveloped in two small, lithe arms. The scent of violets surrounds me as I breathe in Marie's hair. "Oh, Beverly! It's so good to have you with us."

"Marie!" I return her hug fervently. I smile at the colour of her hair; ginger strawberry, much like my own. What is it with the Picard men and red heads? I haven't seen Marie in a few years. She looks the same. She's a small woman with fiery, curly hair that she arranges around her head in a flamboyant, messy bun. "Marie," I step back and look at her. "You look beautiful!"

She tilts her head to the side, "Now, now, Beverly – I don't think that I hold a candle to you!"

I shake my head, "flattery, Marie, will get you nowhere". I laugh at her kindness.

She sighs contently, looking over at Wesley who's holding Saoirse and proudly showing her off to Renee. My eyes follow hers as she looks over to Jean Luc who is currently showing Aaron off to his own brother. "Beverly, is that Jean Luc Picard?"

My mirth can't be contained as I admire my husband, "It certainly is, Marie."

We saunter over to the two young boys, "Aunt Beverly!" Renee affixes himself to my waist. "It's good to see you again."

I bend down to properly embrace my nephew, "and you, Renee. I can't believe how much you've grown in the last few years! The photos that we've seen do you no justice!"

He blushes abashedly, "Thank you."

"And who is this little one?!" Marie takes Saoirse in her arms, smiling at her proudly.

"Kitteh!" The little girl responds proudly.

"Kitteh?" Marie looks up at Wesley and I. We can't stop laughing. I don't think Saoirse will ever learn her name at this point. It might be permanently Kitten, or Kitteh. In a nanosecond I see Saoirse reach up and knowing her goal, "Marie, I would watch your hair if you want to keep any of i-"

"Owch!" Too late. Marie's shock melts into amusement at the smile on the little girl's face and the ensuing giggle.

"She, uh, has a bit of a penchant for pulling hair." Wesley intones with a sorry grin.

"Ah," she looks up at Wesley, "you must be the oldest Picard! Renee has told me so much about you. I am so, so glad to meet you, Wesley. Jean Luc's letters are filled with stories about you. He's very proud of you." She winks at him and then smiles at his consequent blush.

"Donc, eh, so," I hear a familiar rumble as Robert's tall figure approaches. "So, this, Jean Luc," he turns to his brother with a grin, "is your beautiful family." He scans all of us, "I have to say, Jean Luc, that the photos did them no justice."

"For once, Robert, I have to agree with you."

"Wesley," Marie takes his arm. "I hope that you have brought your appetite because we have prepared a special meal for all of you."

Wesley looks at me and we share a laugh, "Oh, Marie, if there is one thing that you will learn about my mother and I – it's that we always bring our appetite!"

She grins up at his tall form, "Bon! Let's eat!"

/

I have decided that the Picards do nothing halfway – not when I see how lunch is set up. It's mid afternoon and the sun is still set high in the sky. A white canvass tent is erected in the back of the house overlooking the vineyard. The table is set with a bounty of food and bottles of wine. Suddenly, I am grateful that I'm not pregnant, as there's nothing that I can't resist more than a good glass of Picard wine.

"Well, Robert," Jean Luc nudges his older brother, "I certainly hope you haven't skimped on the wine!"

Robert turns and looks histrionically hurt, "Mon Dieu, Jean Luc. How could you accuse me of skimping on the wine!"

They share a quiet laugh before settling at the table. "We replicated a high-chair for Aaron and one for Sao-"

"You _replicated_ two high chairs?"

The older of the two looks down and smiles, "ouis. You know contrary to what you might think Jean Luc, we're not stuck in the dark ages!"

"Oh?" Jean Luc looks over, "things certainly have changed!"

"Marie," I look to my left, "this looks absolutely delicious! What is all of this?"

She gives her husband a knowing smile, which is immediately returned. "Cassoulet, fresh bread, local cheese, and of course – wine from the vineyard – none of it replicated."

"Yes," Robert confirmed. "We might be replicating high chairs, but food is one thing that we'll never stoop to use a machine for. Non, not when we have Marie's cooking."


	81. Chapter 81

"Well, Robert," Wesley smiles, admiring his glass. "You've outdone yourself with the 2370!"

We all grin at Wesley's comment; "Well," Robert holds up his glass, clinking it with the young man's on his left, "you really are a Picard, Wesley! But, you haven't tasted anything until I open the 2340. We opened a bottle a few months ago and the lavender floral notes are divine!"

Marie nudges my shoulder and quietly asks, "Is the wine drinking Jean Luc's influence?"

I nod my head and quietly respond, "Mmmm, it's something the Jean Luc has been slowly introducing Wes to over the past year."

"They are very close, no? Jean Luc speaks of Wesley and his accomplishments at great length in his letters. We were, uh, very sorry to hear about what happened with the Academy."

I touch her hand lying on my shoulder, "Thank you, Marie. Yes. They are very close. It's honestly such a change! When we first came on board the Enterprise, Jean Luc couldn't bear to be in the same room with Wes – now they're inseparable!"

"Oh?" Marie repositions Saoirse on her lap as she leans in closer to me.

I nod my head with a knowing smile, "they go to school together, work together, come home together, cook together, Wesley helps Jean Luc with his classes, Jean Luc gives Wes input on his own research…! You know, I couldn't have imagined this in my wildest dreams. I come home from work and they're in the kitchen with the 2 babies, laughing about their day and their own little inside jokes." I shake my head, "If someone had told me that this would be my life, oh, 3 years ago – I would have had them sedated and I would have run a full neural scan!"

Marie's smile broadens, as she looks back at the five men seated at the opposite end of the table. They're engaged in a deep discussion with occasional bouts of laughter ringing through. Robert looks younger with the little baby bouncing on his shoulder. Aaron's small body softens him and brings a smile. Renee is sitting as close to Wesley as he can; his eyes are alight with hero worship. My eyes follow hers and land on my husband. He looks happy here, relaxed. Such a difference from last time we were here; last time he was tense, nervous, agitated. He and Robert were at one another's throats the whole time!

"When did all of this happen, Beverly? I remember when Jean Luc was here not four years ago…" she trails off, lost in the images of her thoughts. "He was so…so angry. Non, eh, I don't know if that's the right word – he was uneasy."

I nod my head, sharing the same memory. He couldn't wait to leave this place. He looked awkward, but now he blends in. "Oh, Marie everything changed so, so quickly! Honestly, he changed the day that he proposed."

Like any woman, myself included, Marie loves a good romantic story. I can tell she's not going to let the comment pass without a full debriefing. She angles herself into her chair and I see the beginnings of a, "do tell."

"Well," I look back at the boys, still embroiled in some sort of debate, "I don't know if Jean Luc told you everything, but a few years ago, we were on what was supposed to be a routine away mission to a planet called Keflotz. When we got there, an armed skirmish had broken out. Well, we were taken by one of the citizens into a building – more like a bunker – where Jean Luc was supposed to have been mediating a sort of peace treaty."

I take a sip of water to wet my throat before continuing, "when we entered the building, I saw hundreds of people lined against the walls – they were either dead or injured. I wasn't thinking clearly, so I left Jean Luc's side and made my way over to a young woman who was hurt… and then before I knew it… I woke up in sickbay with quite a few injuries."

Marie looks genuinely concerned. I don't hear any more voices coming from the head of the table. Instead I hear the beginnings of my husband's voice. I look over to him, his eyes sober, remembering that day along with me. "It was horrible," he began. "I saw it all happening… It was like a bad holo-movie where everything was happening in slow motion and I was powerless to stop it…" I've never truly heard Jean Luc's perspective on what happened and suddenly, I'm transfixed.


	82. Chapter 82

**Thanks for reading guys! Drop me a line if you're liking it or if there's anything in particular you'd like the family to do in Labarre. I'm open for ideas. **

"Well, uh," he clears his throat. "I remember seeing the wall collapse on Beverly. The sound of the blast was so loud that it temporarily deafened me. But, uh, I had to look for Beverly. I don't remember much of the details. I remember throwing stones off the rubble pile and looking for her. I remember not being able to breathe until I saw a little bit of her hair…" He's a million miles away.

"It's okay, Jean Luc," I say softly. "We don't have to talk about it."

He smiles, "No. I will. They should know." He takes another sip of wine, "well, uh we were able to uncover a good bit of Beverly, at least enough to have the Enterprise beam her out. I remember being in Sickbay with her. I just stood there, off to the side in Beverly's office while she was in surgery with Dr. Selar." He looks right at me and nervously smiles, "it felt like forever. And then when she was out of surgery, I must have stayed by her bed for hours until one of our nurses, Alyssa, practically forced me to leave," he finishes with a laugh.

I never knew any of this, and tears are in my eyes, falling down my cheeks as I feel them blown into a zig-zag by the tepid evening breeze.

I add, "When I woke up, I remember being so angry. I was so mad that I was injured and in that sickbay bed. I was so ashamed that I had survived and the young woman that I had been treating had died cushioning me from the fallen cement wall. But Jean Luc, he –" I look at him, sharing a private moment, "you brought me out of my misery – like you always do. You made me realize that it wasn't my fault. You didn't let me sink into self-loathing or depression. Thank you."

His eyes warm in my gaze and a crooked grin surfaces, "you're welcome."

Marie is intrigued, "So," she gestures, "then what happened?"

We're torn from the private moment and I wipe the remaining moisture from my cheek, "well then Jean Luc and I had a long talk. A very long and painful talk."

"But," he takes a drink of water, "it was necessary."

"Mmmm." I intone.

Marie's not satisfied with our vagueness, "about?"

I smile at her, "The past. Our mistakes, our wasted time, how we've hurt one another with past relationships, and things that we've done…"

"And then," Jean Luc smiles at me. "Then I sort of asked Beverly to marry me."

"Sort of?" Robert asks.

He grins at his older brother, "Well, I just sort of stated my desire to marry her and start a family and then, uh she just sort of said-"

"Yes." I whisper, finishing his sentence. And it's not merely an affirmation; it's a continued promise to our life together.

I see Wesley in the corner of my eye; he's laughing. "What's so funny, young man?"

"Sorry, Mom. But, eh, after everything that you two have gone through in your two and a half decade long romance I would have expected a little more. That's so anticlimactic!"

Marie's laugher starts with Wesley's statement, "I agree! Oh, Beverly, Jean Luc! I was expecting loud declarations of love and Shakespeare, knowing Jean Luc!"

I roll my eyes, "You two sound just like, Deanna Troi, our old friend, when I told her! I think she was expecting roses and horse drawn carriages!"

"I don't blame her!" Wesley laughs nervously. "Do you two know how much gossip there was on the Enterprise about you two?!"

Jean Luc balks at Wes with a smile, "No! People really talked about us?"

"Well yeah!" Wesley gathers his napkin from his lap and lays it on the table, "you two were a hot item! People always asked me about you guys. Of course there was never anything to tell other than my own personal theories. But, people had their suspicions what with all of your breakfasts and dinners together. And everyone knew when you two were arguing. It was so obvious. Mom" he looks at me, "you would be agitated all day. And, you…" He turns to Jean Luc, "you snapped at everyone. Alpha shift was pure torture. We all breathed a sigh of relief when you retired to your ready room!"

I see Jean Luc put his head in his hands to hide his blush, "I didn't know I was so obvious!"

"No, but," Wes gains and air of seriousness, "I was really happy when you two showed up on campus that day and told me that you were engaged. You two, of everyone, deserve to be happy. And in order to be happy, you needed each other. And, I can see from how things are at home that I was right."

Marie holds up her wine glass, swirling the red liquid and inhaling the delicate aroma. "I agree. I remember back a few years ago when you two came to visit. When Robert told me that you were coming, Beverly, I was so excited! I thought that you and Jean Luc were finally engaged! He spoke of you in his letters – which, sadly, were a lot less frequent than they are now. But when you came, I knew that nothing had changed in your relationship. I remember being so frustrated with the two of you! Jean Luc you used to look at her with such a longing and my heart would go out to you. And you, Beverly, you were uncomfortable; you were uneasy with yourself and with him. There were so many barriers between you two. Every smile was couched and every glance was guarded. There was so much love there, though! I told Robert that I just wanted to corner the two of you and shout at you for your collective stubbornness!"

"Here, here!" Wesley raises his glass to her. "I think that's what everyone on the Enterprise wanted to do!"

I'm blushing and so is my husband. "Yes, well…" I drawl, "at least we finally realized it!"

Robert lets out a hearty rumble of laughter as he raises his wine glass, "To Jean Luc and Beverly – and may their children never inherit the Picard and Howard stubbornness. For the two together would be a lethal combination!" And with a clang of glasses filled with a beautiful vintage, the night air is once again renewed with mirth, laughter, and family congeniality.


	83. Chapter 83

"It's been a while since we were here." I smile taking his hand as he leads me through his old bedroom.

He smirks, "Last time it was terribly awkward…"

I laugh at the recollection, "You know, the whole time I just wanted to jump you on your old bed!"

"I wish you had!" He laughs in response.

"I bet you did!" I nudge his chest. I should have known what was coming next, but I'm still surprised when he pushes me onto the bed. I always thought it was a rather generously sized bed for a young boy.

"Well…" he starts on my neck, drawing a familiar hiss of pleasure. "Beverly Picard, I do believe it's about time you made good on that urge!"

Gladly.

/

"Beverly, I don't know how you do it, but the two little ones slept all through the night!"

I smile at Marie over my croissant… my delicious, authentic, Marie-made, French croissant. Looking down at the tiny baby in the little high chair, I smooth his light hair. We all knew that Saoirse was going to be a red head like myself; she came out with a full, curly head of ginger curls! But, we can't figure out little Aaron yet. I think he's going to look like Jean Luc – much like Saoirse does. But, Wesley's convinced that he looks like me. His eyes are mine, though, that's for sure. But his hair is another entity altogether. I think he'll be blond, much like Renee. But, we're not sure yet.

"To tell you the truth, Marie, I think that yesterday tuckered them both out! But, neither of them has been too fussy. With Wesley, I remember, it was always a constant battle to get any sort of sleep whatsoever. But, Saoirse's always been a good sleeper and thankfully Aaron's following her footsteps... Knock on wood." I look around, but my attention is caught my a little hand reaching onto my plate, "more, Kitten?"

"Moh!" She exclaims pointing at the buttered pastry. Another thing we've been lucky with is pickiness. Nana always used to tell me what a picky toddler I was. She loved to tell me about the only white food phase, following by the only yellow food phase. Bread and corn were her greatest allies. But, as we know, I grew out of that only too quickly, making me a very pudgy middle schooler. But thankfully Saoirse will eat anything. But I have to say that her favourite mirrors her father's and my own; for her, nothing beats a good buttered croissant with a little bit of strawberry preserve.

We're trying to teach her more words. "What do you want more of, Saoirse?" I kiss her little golden ringlets.

She points over at the plate, "Tat."

"That's a croissant. Can you say croissant?"

"Cusant" she says halfheartedly. I laugh and languish another kiss on her head, "good enough."

Marie sits next to me, gathering Aaron into her arms. "Beverly, she is so lovely."

I look down with a proud smile, "we think so."

"Jean Luc is such a proud father! He looks at Wesley, Aaron and Saoirse like Robert looks at Renee. It's very sweet."

"Yes," I nod my head. "I've been lucky. Before we had the baby, I was worried about Jean Luc."

She smiles at me, taking a sip of her coffee, "I remember how much Jean Luc always said he didn't like children. But," she lays the cup down and repositions the baby on her lap, "I always suspected it was a fib! He would get along just fine with Renee!"

I hear footsteps and laughter as the front door opens, ushering in four very mischievous looking boys. "Well, where have you four been?" I ask, scrutinizing them a little more closely, my eye catching the thin sheen of dirt all over them.

"Just looking around the vineyard." A baritone asserts, as he kisses first my forehead before he sweeps up the ginger headed bundle on my lap.

"Papa!" She giggles at the wet kisses he's littering on her cheeks.

"Well," I reposition myself, crossing my legs. "I hope you haven't yet given the grand tour, Robert. I'd like a second look at the great Picard vineyard and cellars!"

"Not to worry, Beverly!" He laughs. "I'll leave no corner of the property untouched! But, eh, after breakfast; it's such a treat when Marie makes homemade croissants." He leans down and lovingly kisses his wife's cheek; "She usually leaves us men to scavenge for our own breakfasts!"

"You made these, Marie?" Wesley exclaims with the completion of a hearty bite. "Wow, so much better than the replicator version we eat at our house! Jean Luc," he looks beside him, " I don't know how we're going to go back to replicator croissants after this!"

"Mmm" Jean Luc intones in agreement. "Indeed. Marie, you really have outdone yourself, yet again."

She laughs, "Thank you, Jean Luc, Wesley. But, they're not that difficult. You could make them."

I see Wesley and Jean Luc look at one another with a familiar look – it's one they share when they're about to laugh over an inside joke. "Marie," Wesley turns back to her, "We just mastered a cake made from a box. Give us a little time on the authentic French croissant made from scratch…"


	84. Chapter 84

"Marie, can I help you with anything?" I always loathe when I'm a guest at people's house and they never let me help them with the chores after a meal! I know it's done as a gesture to be nice, take make the guest feel special. But honestly, it just makes me feel uneasy; it makes me feel like an intruder. Thankfully, Hope and I have reached that stage in our relationship where we put one another to work at the house. It's never declared, but it's a comfortable implication.

"Non, non! Beverly, I insist that you, Jean Luc, and Wesley make your way out into the vineyards! Take advantage of the cool morning air before it heats up today and the sun becomes unbearable!" I smile halfheartedly as she disappears into the kitchen. A warm hand tugs me out of my chair and a very handsome, tall man encourages me out of my seat. "Come on," he whispers. "I want to show you and Wes the vineyard."

"Should we leave Saoirse and Aaron?" I call to Marie over his shoulder. I look over into the living room with a smile; I think it's the time difference, but after breakfast the two little munchkins fell right back to sleep. I smirk; I'm going to have to find something to do with them before this evening or they'll never sleep through the night!

"Ouis," Marie floats out of the kitchen, "no need to wake the little ones. I'll look after them! It will be my pleasure. It's been too long since I've had babies in the house!"

"You're sure?" I ask for posterity as big hands enclose themselves around my waist.

"Beverly," she shoos us with a broad grin, "go!"

/

"Where are Robert and Renee?" I look around as we leave the house.

Jean Luc blushes as I look over at him, "I, eh, well – I wanted this time to be just the three of us. Also, Renee had a school event in town and Robert took him."

"Oh Jean Luc," I hug him close to me and nuzzle his shoulder. Not a moment later I hear the door once again shut behind us, "So, Jean Luc, where to first? Robert showed me the plan of the vineyard and it's huge!"

"That it is," he laughs as we start walking in tandem, "I used to resent how big it was during the harvest time. Father thought it prudent to put us two boys to work collecting the grapes. In fact, I hated the late summer, early autumn months! Robert and I would spend all day in school, then we'd have to rush home, drop our bags by the door, and join Father in the vineyards. He'd give us these big sac cloth bags and it was our job to carefully pick the grapes," he stops in the middle of the row, showing Wes the beginning of the grape crop. "And then we'd have to haul them to that building," he stands up and points to a large stone building at the end of the vines, "where they would be processed."

Wes turns with a confused look in his face, "but I thought that big machines were used to pick the grapes off the vines? Why did you have to do it?"

Jean Luc laughs. "Yes. All the other vineyards, including this one now, use big tractors to shake the grapes off the vines, but Father thought we needed to learn the value of hard work… and chronic sunburn…" he finishes wryly.

"So," Wes continues walking in front of us, "you finished collecting the grapes in October?!"

"Well actually," Jean Luc points over Wes' shoulder, "no. We'd really finish in late November. You see that crop over there, just before the stone fence at the edge of the property?"

Wes shields his eyes from the oncoming sun, "Those in the distance surrounded by the lilacs?"

"Yes," Jean Luc answers. "They're sort of set apart from all the others. We'd let that crop ripen a good deal. Father enjoyed making two kinds of wine. The greater part of the crop, like the one that we're walking amid now, is used for making a merlot, but those grapes from that little area are used to make the most unique aperitif."

"Aperitif?" Wes asks.

"Yes," Jean Luc says with a smile, "A desert wine. I don't think you've tried on of the Picard aperitifs yet. Most of them are sold for a high price on the market, so we keep very little of what we make – a few bottles at most. But, they are exquisite!"

Jean Luc smiles and laughs at his own memory. "I remember how hard it was to harvest those grapes. By November, they were so ripe, so deliciously sugary. As Robert and I grew older, Father was hesitant to send us to do the harvesting; he was afraid we'd eat all the grapes before we got them to the presser!"

Wes is laughing, "Did you eat all the grapes?"

"Almost! One year, the crop yield was already low due to a mild freeze, but the remaining grapes were superb! Robert and I ate a good deal and I remember how irate father was! He didn't speak with us for a week."

Wesley's laughter begins and joins Jean Luc's. But then he asks quite seriously, "Jean Luc it doesn't sound like you had that bad of a relationship with your father…"

His hand tightens over my own. I've been silent this whole time, simply enjoying their banter and their conversation. Sometimes, I'm just content to listen and to get lost in their merriment. "Well, sometimes our relationship was alright… but eh," I can tell the memory is difficult for him. "Well, father was – he was, choleric. I don't know if that's even the right word. Maybe you, Beverly," he squints at me, moving in momentarily to lay a kiss on my temple, "would know the correct term. But, sometimes he was elated and happy, and then without warning he'd be angry, sullen. And, drinking would only enhance his mood swings."

"Was he bipolar?" I ask.

"I don't know… he didn't much believe in doctors. But, well, knowing what we know now about my family's neural physiology, it might have been early onset Irumodic Syndrome." Wesley stops walking and turns back to Jean Luc. I mirror his action and pull him to a stop as well. I look at him; he seems afraid, sheepish.

"Jean Luc," I touch his cheek. "His fate isn't yours. Medicine has advanced and we already silenced the gene."

I see Wes take Jean Luc's hand, "It's not going to happen to you. We won't let it happen."

"Thank you," his whispers. "I'm so scared that I'll become him and I don't want that for you," he looks at Wes and me. "Or for Aaron or Saoirse. I-" he looks down, "I never knew that he was suffering from a disease, but I hated him – resented him. I always thought that my father hated me and preferred Robert. It's true that they had more in common." He reaches out and touches a nearby vine, "While I dreamt about the stars, Robert sat at my father's feet and gleaned knowledge about soil conditions, bottling time, the aging process of the grape… I think my father thought that I didn't care and he responded to my nonchalance about the family business with coldness… But the truth is that I just had a different focus."

"Jean Luc," Wes moves in close, "I know your dad loved you. He just had a hard time showing it. He just didn't understand you… I'm sorry."

I didn't expect it, but Jean Luc moves away from me and folds Wes into an embrace that Wes readily returns. "I don't want that for you, Wes," I hear him say. "I know that I was hard on you in the past and that sometimes, even now, I push you to do things. But that's only because I want the best for you. I don't ever want you to doubt that I love you deeply and that I would do anything for you."

Tears build behind my eyes at their tenderness. My previous relationships and my marriage to Jack made me look upon men as steely, unemotional, and undemonstrative of their passion. But, this man in front of me has shown me that a man can be as strong as an iron bulwark, but at the same time show love without hesitation and without detraction from his masculinity. And, what is more, he's shown that to Wesley, for which I am eternally and fully grateful.

I see them wipe away their shared tears and smile. A warm hand once again tugs at my own, "Let's go see the presser and the casks. I'm sure Robert won't mind if we open a bottle."

I smile and gesture, "Lead on".


	85. Chapter 85

The town of Labarre itself is small, quant. "Jean Luc, how long have these buildings been standing?" I marvel at the old stone chapel as we traipse along the old, cobblestone streets.

"He looks up from the stroller he's pushing in front of him, "Well, this church was built in the 1500s! Can you believe it?"

"Jean Luc that's over 1200 years old! That's incredible. How is it still standing?" I ask rhetorically.

He smiles, his eyes covered by his sunglasses, "I'd always wondered the same thing. People still get married in the old church. It creates quite a romantic setting with the intricate stained glass windows and old wooden pews. I remember when Robert and Marie got married..."

Marie laughs from behind us, chiming in, "That was quite a day." I look back and see her grip her husbands form tighter, "and it was quite romantic."

I grin as I see Robert move in gingerly to kiss his wife, "absolument," His whispers, planting a tender kiss on her lips. Saoirse is balanced securely up on his broad shoulders, and she evinces a small squeal of delight when she's close enough to Marie's head to pull on her loose ginger curls. "Ouch!" Marie breaks their kiss with a laugh at Saoirse's continued predilection for hair pulling.

Renee groans behind us, "Ah, non! Pas encore!"

Wesley laughs at Renee's reticence to his parents' intimacy. He takes him around the shoulder, "I had to get over that the first week that I moved into the house!"

My arm snakes it's way around my husband's waist as we continue our stroll, coming to a halt outside a wine shoppe window. "Hey!" I lift my sunglasses from my face and wipe a light sheen of sweat that's formed on my skin around their periphery. "Is that the Picard label?"

Robert saunters behind me, his gaze following my own, "Ouis. Eh, this is the most exclusive wine shop in the region. We sell our wines to this shop and they distribute the bottles to buyers."

I look at the price tag on the crate, "7,000 standard dollars?!" I exclaim.

Robert blushes, "Yes, eh, they make the pricing. The cost is based on the taste and the vintage year."

"Sorry, but Robert that's only a 2371 and they're already asking 7,000 standard dollars."

Marie smiles as she lays her hand on my arm, amused by my shock. "Yes. I don't even want to tell you what we get for older vintages!"

"I had no idea," Wesley is as shocked as I am.

"Well, eh," Robert gestures. "Shall we keep walking?"

"Joshua!" Renee runs out ahead of us towards a similarly aged boy in the distance.

"Renee!" The young man responds, sprinting to meet his friend.

Two smiling boys amble their way back to us. Renee smiles proudly gesturing at all of us. "Joshua is one of my good friends from school," He announces proudly.

"It's good to meet you, Joshua," I smile warmly at the young, dark haired boy.

"Bonjour!"

"Joshua, c'est mon oncle Jean Luc Picard et sa femme, Beverly Picard."

The young boy's eyes light up, "C'est Jean Luc Picard de l'Enterprise!" The young man turns to Renee who nods enthusiastically.

"Ouis!"

"Et, c'est Wesley!" He gestures proudly, "Mon cousin." He whispers something else in French, making Robert and Marie smile. "Et," he points to Saoirse, "elle est ma cousine, Saoirse."

"Tres mignon!" The young boy laughs, waving at the ginger headed toddler perched high on his shoulders. I look and see her giggle, waving back and mirroring his action.

And then he bends over, gesturing for Joshua to meet Aaron, "C'est Aaron."

"Joshua!" A voice calls from the distance. He turns back to the tall, dark man in the distance. "Je viens, Papa!"

He looks back at us, "Il me faut aller! Renee, a bientot!" And with a sprint he's gone.

Marie comes next to me, taking my arm and whispering in to my ear, "Renee's been telling all of his friends that his family is coming to see him. He loves to brag about Jean Luc and Wesley. I'm sure that if school was in session, he'd drag them in for show and tell!"

I laugh and wander back to my husband, stealing on of his hands away from the stroller as we continue through the small, narrow old streets. "It's good to be here, Jean Luc," I whisper.

He leans in close and kisses me softly, "Thank you, Beverly."

"For what?" I ask.

"For changing me. For infusing me with new life, and giving me these new lives," he looks back at Robert and Marie fussing over Saoirse and then down at Aaron, who's smiling as he takes in the novelty of his surroundings. "For allowing me to love Wes… for allowing me to love you and be loved by you."


	86. Chapter 86

**Thanks for ready and leaving such lovely comments. Hope that you are all enjoying the story. As you have found by now, this is by no means an action packed sequence, but I am touched that you are reading it! Feel free to comment or review. Love hearing from all of you. I'll be away in London until the 18th - but rest assured more updates after that! And I think I have one more left in me for this evening so stay tuned! -Becca **

Looking around, I chide myself on not remembering how absolutely breathtaking it is here at night. I'm trying to absorb as much as I can of this wonderful place, knowing that we leave tomorrow and this likely will be our last trip of the year.

A spring sunset is a sight to behold. The sky is alight with shades of deep red and orange that colour the land with a sultry cadence. The air here hangs redolent with the piquant aroma of the flowers and the fresh vines. I smile with the image in my head of some majestic deity coming down every morning and spraying the horizon with a cosmic perfume bottle.

"Mama," I look down to the little girl at my feet. She's completely covered in dirt; the only things that are clean are those pearly white teeth shining through her serene smile. She holds up her arms, one already occupied by the even dirtier form of Mr. Mosby.

"Well," lean over, hauling her into my lap. "What do we have here?" I get a giggled response as she hands me a small dandelion she's scavenged from the cracks in the cobblestone driveway. "Thank you, Kitten." I kiss her sandy brow. "Now," I look at her properly, "how on Earth did you get so dirty?"

"My, oh my!" I hear a familiar baritone voice before I see him sit next to me, "What do we have here?"

I look over at him with an expression of mock exasperation, "a very scruffy kitten."

"Someone's going to need a bath this evening before we leave tomorrow!"

I nod my head, properly looking at him bathed in the French sunset. He catches me staring, "What?" He whispers.

I shake my head, returning his placed grin, "nothing. You. I love you." I grab his hand as we both settle our attention on the laughter peeling out from the head of the dinner table.

"He didn't really do that, did he?" Wesley manages between undulations of laughter.

Robert has tears in his eyes, "I'm not kidding, Wesley. Jean Luc was quite a joker in his youth!"

"Oh no," Jean Luc asserts, "What fodder are you giving my son to taunt me with now, Robert?"

"Relax, Jean Luc," he gestures with his hand, "I was only telling Wesley about the time that you broke Mama's antique Tiffany lamp and blamed it on me!"

Jean Luc suddenly looks very penitent, "I'm very sorry about the Robert, but as you remember, I later repented."

"We're lucky that you were Mama's favourite son!"

Jean Luc laughs at the falsehood, "You and I both know that's not true! But," he suddenly becomes serious, "I think Mama realized that having two boys in the house was like having two stray puppies; you simply can't have nice things and expect them to last."

I turn to Marie on my right; she's enjoying this repartee as much as I am. She humorously cautions, "Now, now, Robert, remember that this can go both ways, and I don't want Renee learning all your foibles!"

Renee chimes in proudly, "too late!" and elicits a laugh from Marie. "Well," she cautions her son, "Mon petit puce, I don't want you using your father's bad behavior an excuse for your own."

Renee cringes at the use of his pet name, "I, Mama," he puffs out his chest, "am a model son!"

She laughs at the statement, "Ouis," she pinches his thin cheek, "You certainly are."

"So, Robert," Wesley refocuses the conversation, "What else did Jean Luc get up to?"

He takes a sip of his wine, beginning a stare-down with his younger brother. I see Jean's gaze, and it seems to scream a humourous, "don't you dare."

"Well, let me see, Wesley, there was the time that Jean Luc went missing for two days when he was 15. You will never imagine where he-!"

"I think that's enough," Jean Luc halts the conversation with a chuckle. "It's time for bed and we still need to give Saoirse and Aaron a bath."

Marie stands with Aaron cradled against her chest, "well I insist on spending a little more time with this little one! I'll give him a bath and put him to bed."

"Are you sure, Marie?" I look up.

"Absolument, Beverly. I want to soak up every moment I can!"

"Thank you." I whisper to her.

Jean Luc lets out a yawn as he takes his daughter into his arms. She's dropped, "Mosby," she points at the ground to her fallen comrade. "Saoirse," Wes starts, "Can we give Mr. Mosby at bath?"

She scrunches her nose and gives a very direct shake of her head, "No!" Drawing a laugh from all of us.

"Ouis, Jean Luc. Well," Robert gets up, "goodnight. We'll see you for breakfast tomorrow." He walks over to his Jean Luc, holding our little girl. "Goodnight, ma petite puce," he kisses Saoirse brow. "We are so glad that we have gotten to meet you." He drops his smile and becomes somber, "And you, Wesley. We're very proud to have to a part of this family. Thank you for coming to see us." He looks down before he continues. "And, eh, thank you, Beverly."

I stand and move towards them, "For what?" I whisper as I touch his arm.

He moves in to hug me, "For giving me back my brother and for sharing with us these three wonderful children."


	87. Chapter 87

hi guys! In London now. Off to see the British Museum tomorrow and Notting Hill! I uploaded this before I left onto another site. Hope you enjoy. Another chapter on the 18th!

**Chapter Text**

"Just one?" I look over at the woman to my right.

I see her look down into her tea, her smile metamorphosing into a frown, "Robert said he only wanted one. What could I say to that?"

I put my hand on hers, "But?"

The men have retired to the porch while we stayed in, admiring Saoirse playing on the carpet with her kitten and Mr. Mosby.

She looks away from the self-amused toddler and lets out a wistful sigh, "I always wanted a little girl. You know," she looks at me, "I always thought that if Renee had been a girl, she'd look just like Saoirse." She draws an outline of her, "red hair, bright turquoise eyes, a smile that never disappears..."

"It's not too late for you, Marie!"

"Beverly," she angles her body and her hand unconsciously moves to her stomach, "ouis, it is too late. Robert and I are getting older. I don't think it's prudent to have another child. Also, I don't think Robert would hear of it!"

"Have you spoken with him about it?"

She shakes her head, "Non, but I know what his response will be."

I move closer to her on the sofa and touch her hand, "Marie, you're happiness and what you want is important as well."

She looks up and smiles, "It's not that I'm not happy, Beverly."

I put my hands up, "That's not what I meant, Marie."

She smiles, patting my knee, "I know. I know. But who's to say that I have any right to ask for more than what I have. I have a good son. He's wonderful, in fact."

"He is," I confirm truthfully. "But-"

"Non. I will be happy to enjoy these two little ones. Beverly, you must promise not to stay away so long next time."

I hang my head, "We're sorry, Marie. I suppose we've been a little preoccupied."

She laughs, "Don't be silly, Beverly, I'm not chastising you! You've just had two babies and you've been dealing with this situation with Starfleet." She's quiet for a moment, "I'm very sorry about that. It's not fair how they've treated Wesley. He's such a wonderful boy."

I look out the window at the four men enjoying their last hours together before we leave back to Yakima. "Yes. He's wonderful. But," I turn back to Marie, "I can't believe that I'm saying this. But, I'm happy about what happened with Starfleet..."

"Oh?" She crosses her legs, changing her posture to a questioning one.

I let out a sigh and continue, "Yes. I'm happy that he's home with us. I – uh- I don't think he was too happy in Starfleet. He made Jack's and Jean Luc's dream his own, but he wasn't happy."

"And is he now?" Saoirse drags Mr. Mosby behind her as she stands and motions for Marie to pick her up. I hear the strain in her breath as she reaches over, pulling up the growing toddler and positioning the giggling form on her lap.

Unconsciously, I again look back outside, seeing Wesley position Aaron in Renee's tentative arms. I smile, lost in my own moment, looking at Wes interacting with his family. His family. Our family. He's so natural here; with these people is where he belongs. "Beverly?" I hear Marie's soft voice.

I bring myself back to her, "Yes," I whisper. A cool breeze ambles through the open windows, bringing with it the scent of the lilac bushes that decorate the sides of the large house. "Yes. He's very happy."

She laughs, "I can see that. I could see that when I first saw all of you. You and Jean Luc, you're both lighter people now. Your happiness shines from you; such a difference from a few years ago! I must sound like a broken record by now, but, eh, I still can't get over his change. And what is more, I can't believe that Jean Luc and Robert haven't had a fight this trip! I've never seen them get along so well. It's like they are two completely different people."

I nod my head, remembering the last time that we were here. Oh it was horrible! Marie and I cowered in the kitchen one night as the two of them had at it in the living room. Oh, I couldn't wait to get back to the Enterprise! "I know! Remember how awful that night was, Marie?"

She shudders and histrionically motions to the heavens, "Thank you, God!" she cries, "that we didn't have round two of that argument!"

We share a laugh; if only to indicate how happy we are that this trip has not suffered the same fate. I see Marie's gaze again shift to Saoirse. "Marie," I coax gently, "talk to Robert. You never know – he might want the same thing."

Her gaze matches my own, "I will, Beverly."

/

"Look at the three of them," I whisper automatically to my husband. "They're exhausted."

I smile serenly looking on at the three sleeping kids perched on the seat opposite us. I feel him coax my head onto his shoulder as he lets out a yawn.

Was that my communication device?

I reach on queue for the quietly beeping entity in my pocket.

"What is it?" He posits in response to my movement.

"I've got a message."

"From?" He looks on over my shoulder.

"Nana." I state automatically as I scan the small device.

Tears start to flood my eyes. "She says that I should come immediately. That she doesn't have much time, and that there's something that she needs to give me."

Regret and remorse come flying at me out the stratosphere. I remind myself of the laxity that I've evinced in my relationship with her. I have a good excuse, I repeat like a mantra; Nana lives on another planet and I have a new family. Still, though, I feel guilty. And now, she's dying and there are still so many things that I have to tell her. There's still so much that she still has to teach me.

A warm, comforting hand nestles itself on my back, "I'm sorry, Beverly. We'll leave as soon as we get back. Does Wes need to come with us?"

I look across the shuttle to the sleeping bundles propped on the opposite chair. "No," I shake my head. "I'll ask Wes if he can stay with the kids." I turn to him, "But I'll need you to come."

A hand comes up and the back of his left hand gently wipes away the tears on my cheek, "that," he smiles warmly, "is a foregone conclusion."


	88. Chapter 88

**Hi everyone! Back from London and as promised - here is another chapter. Thanks for reading! -Becca**

"Needs to give you something? Like what?" Wesley posits incredulously, trying to keep his voice low as we don't want to wake the 2 children sleeping next to him.

I shake my head, throwing my hands up in question, "that's all she said in her message; she wasn't very specific." For the past hour and a half since I received the communiqué, I've been trying to discern what Nana would possibly want to give me. Nothing that she has is truly of any value. We don't have any family heirlooms other than Nana's candleholder. I can't imagine why she'd want to give me that! It's nothing to gawk over; it's a wrought iron receptacle. The house, she told me a long time ago, would be left to the colony. Her furniture is old; so I won't be taking any of it. So, what could she possibly have that would be of any sentimental value?

The cabin is silent as Wesley and Jean Luc give me time to think. Wes, however, breaks my musings. "I'm sorry, Mom." He reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll stay with Saoirse and Aaron. Don't worry about it. I'm sure Hope, Laurie, and Karla won't mind you being away for another few days."

The practice! Oh in all my fuss I completely forgot about the practice. My head falls back in exasperation against the seat behind me, "Oh," my hand comes up to rub my temple. "Work!"

I feel a warm arm come around my shoulders, "Beverly," I look to my left. "Wes is right; they'll survive a few more days."

I know they will, but I still feel guilty. We've become so, so busy and we're only getting more and more patients coming to us. It's good, though; it's wonderful income, it's engaging, and it's job security. I also hate leaving so much work with our staff. Laurie is new… well she's new to us. And Karla's been there for a while, and she's great – but her skills are limited. It's OK, I tell myself; we'll manage for a few more days. "I'll go see Hope when we land and explain everything to her. It'll be alright." I say it more to comfort myself than for the benefit of those around me.

/

"What time do we have to leave for the station?" The breath against my neck inquires.

"45 minutes. We should get up..." I say that with as little enthusiasm as I can muster; we're dog-tired! Yes, Labarre was relaxing and up until yesterday afternoon, I felt rested, rejuvenated, and ready to go back to work. But, everything changed after I got that message. Now I'm worried, apprehensive, and sad. But, you know what ( I'm even afraid to admit this to myself), I'm angry that I'm not as sad as I should be.

I think that if Nana and I had maintained our level of closeness that we had before I left for the Academy and the few subsequent years that I came back from school, I would have been a lot more heartbroken. As it is, though, we barely spoke after Jack's death and when I was on the Enterprise, we conserved very lax communication. It's such a shame and if there's anything that I should be sad about, it's that. I'm also angry that she never properly got to know my husband, Wes, and now our two little ones.

When I was younger, I thought that Nana could do anything. I would sit at her feet and it seemed like she had an answer for every question that I asked. I thought that she'd always be around; that we'd always be together. I guess I never lost that juvenile notion; I always assumed that we'd have time. And now, we have none. She's dying and I've wasted my opportunities.

The arm around my waist tightens its grip for a second before it disengages and rips the covers away from us. "Jean Luc," I say with a bit of force. "That was very naughty." I snuggle closer to him to maintain a semblance of the warmth that the covers provided.

"I know," his voice adopts a tone of mock pity as he disentangles himself from me. "But we must get going." I feel him leave the space behind me, exposing me to more cold as he ushers me to follow his lead.

We dress in haste, making up for the malingering we engaged in just moment earlier. Leaving the bed tousled and unmade, we grab our bags and quickly make our way down the stairs. Wesley's woken and waiting for us. "Wes," I hug him, trying not to tear up. "We'll be in communications range so call us if anything happens."

"Ok," he yawns; getting up at 4am is not something that any of us engage in daily.

Jean Luc quickly hugs him as well as I tug him out the door. "I love you guys," he calls after us. "Be safe and call me when you get to Caldos."


	89. Chapter 89

I'm still exhausted even after sleeping for the greater part of the shuttle ride to the Seattle Galactic Transport station. We're to take another shuttle to the nearby Aldrin Space Stop at the halfway point between the Moon and Earth. From Aldrin, we pick up the shuttle to Caldos.

"Hey," a hand grabs mine and I feel a kiss on my temple. "Beverly," his tone quests me to look at him. I give him a half smile and receive another kiss in reply, "it's going to be alright."

"The Shuttle for Aldrin Station is departing in 15 minutes from gate 14" the cool voice of the computer sounds from the overhead. A hand pulls me out of the warm seat and we make out way to board the shuttle.

Surprisingly, it's quite empty. I remember when I was a student, getting a ticket to Aldrin Station was a hassle in itself. Now, however, more stations have been built due to the high travelling demands. I'm still surprised, though, at just how sparse our shuttle is.

Finding a seat towards the back, we settle in. I'm intent on resuming my nap. And then it hits me; this is the first time in 2 years that either of us has gone into space. I open my eyes and lift my head from his broad shoulder. "Jean Luc," I whisper to him, pulling his attention away from the padd in his hand.

"Hmm?"

"This is our first time back in space." I watch carefully to see his reaction. This whole trip, Jean Luc has been completely focused on us getting to Caldos. We've been single-mindedly set on making sure that Wes has enough supplies for the next three days to take care of Aaron and Saoirse. Jean Luc still has another week of Spring break, but the time that we weren't spending in Labarre he was going to use to grade papers and prepare a new segment of his curriculum. He's left the grading with Wesley who was only too happy to offer his help. The other bits however will have to wait until we get back. And I was preoccupied with making sure the practice would be all right in my absence.

He looks past me out the window, my gaze following his as we admire the change from blue skies to black speckled with silver. "Yes," he whispers wistfully. I wonder if he misses it. Do moments like these make Jean Luc yearn for the stars again? Does he wish that he were among them, stopping at different planets to negotiate treaties or make first contact?

My body language must have shifted and he noticed it. "Hey," my gaze is torn from the viewport back to him. "Beverly," he angles my eyes to meet his own before he lays his forehead against mine. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about you, about us... about the stars…" I answer quietly.

His head moves back and forth as he stifles a small chuckle, "no."

My mouth cocks and half grin, "no?"

"No. I don't miss it."

"How did you know that's what I was thinking?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "I just knew." His grin fades and he becomes serious, "I'm happy with what we have, Beverly. Stop thinking that I miss space; I told you that night on board the Enterprise that I would give it all up just to be with you; you've made me happier in the last two years than I've ever been. Even the simplest moments in Yakima bring my more joy that I ever had in my most exciting, rewarding moments as captain of the Enterprise." My half grin becomes a full one and I lay my head against his shoulder and resume my previous endeavor of trying to fall asleep. I remind myself that whatever regrets I may have about my relationship with Nana, I'll never have those about Jean Luc.


	90. Chapter 90

This smell is familiar. I can't describe it. But, if I had to put a name to it, then I would say that the scent in the air here is what I would imagine the colour green to smell like.

I've haven't been back here in… jeesh when was the last time I was back here? Right after I got married? I can't remember. It's been too long. I smile as the breeze rustles the trees; it's comfortingly familiar. I forgot how much solace this place brought to me when I was a little girl. Coming here after the Arveda tragedy was a like turning a new page in a book. I don't remember specifics because I was too young, but I remember the feeling that I had when I stumbled off that shuttle all those years ago.

I take his hand as we leave the station. It's dusk and the planet is bathed in a dim haze. It looks the same and, like I was programmed, I automatically remember the route to Nana's cottage. Our feet indent the green grass as the breeze rustles my hair. Stray strands are blown over my nose, tickling my face before I vainly push them aside.

"Beverly Howard?" I hear before I see a tall, lanky man running toward us. I don't recognize him; I don't think I've met him. How does he know my name? "Beverly Howard?" He repeats, catching up with us and coming to a halt.

"Yes?" I inquire, pushing more stray strands away as the wind picks up.

His face is somber, "I'm sorry, Miss. Howard, but you're grandmother, she, well she-"

My cheeks flush and tears build in my eyes before spilling over. I make no effort to wipe them away. Let them leave their stains. I deserve to feel every wet inch of their trail. I never said goodbye. I haven't been there for this wonderful woman who raised me and loved me. Damn you, Beverly. Damn you. My left hand is gripped tighter as I'm pulled into a strong embrace and I allow myself to be racked by sobs.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Howard," the strange man's voice repeats. I feel another hand come to rest on my back, "would you like to go to her house? The mayor's arranged for her wake tomorrow, but she's left some things for you and you can stay in the house while you're here."

I don't really hear what he's saying. I know he's speaking, but the words don't register. I feel Jean Luc's head nod against mine as he guides me to walk. I hear a conversation between the two men, but I like I said, I don't really hear what's being said. I'm too damn ashamed of myself and saddened by what's happened.

The house looks the same; nothing's changed. The same camellias lay undisturbed outside the perimeters of the old home. Their same smell colours the air; that's the smell that I associate Nana and Caldos. My hand lingers on the old doorknob, feeling it's intricate detail, before I manipulate it and grant myself entry into what I once considered my home. A hand leaves my own as he moves to put down the bags.

The inside of the home looks undisturbed. Herbs and flowers that Nana would use to fix old remedies still hang drying over the doorway. It's dark for a few moments before Jean Luc illuminates the room with the flick of a wall switch. More tears come as I look over to the dining room table, still decorated with a bouquet of pink camellias and baby's breath – presumably the last arrangement Nana ever made.

The finality of her death once again strikes me when I look over and see the fireplace lie dormant. Nana always kept a fire lit. She had a sort of fascination with it, I remember; even when she retired to bed, she always kept some sort of fire with her in the form of that candle. I walk over to her chair in front of the still hearth. Books are piled on either side. Some books I recognize; they're old medical textbooks that she's had for years. But then, there are a myriad of books without titles. Recognition dawns; they're Nana's journals. She always kept a journal. I recall once picking one up, only to be chastened and told never, ever to read them. From then on, she kept them hidden away in her room. I never went near one again after that incident when I was a young girl. But now, none of them are hidden. They're exposed – anyone could read them. I pick one up and thumb through it. I feel like I shouldn't be touching it; they're something sacred and for her eyes only. With that in mind, I relinquish my hold on it, laying it next to an inactivated padd.

"Beverly," he whispers, kneeling next to me. "It's late, do you want to get some sleep before tomorrow?"

I must still be crying because before I answer a soft thumb wipes away another stray tear. I nod my head, "yes". I look up to the small staircase and take his hand in mine. "It's a small bed," I halfheartedly chuckle.

"We'll make due." He says softly as I lead him up the rickety antique stairs.

/

Despite all the 'sleep' that I got today during our transit, I'm still exhausted. I'm emotionally drained and traumatized. I'm too nonchalant to care about properly changing into pajamas so I just shimmy out of my pants and shirt, opting to sleep almost naked. Jean Luc does the same.

It really is a small bed. I look at him, "would you rather us sleep in Nana's bed?"

He shakes his head, "She died there, Beverly."

I almost want to vomit, "Who told you that?" Haunting images of Nana's small, pale form lying dead in her bed haunt me. On one hand, they're comforting; I'm assured that she died peacefully. On the other hand, the images are disturbing and I don't think I'll ever be able to go into her room again without thinking about her death.

He motions for me to lie down. What else am I going to do? I sit on the edge of the bed, looking at him as he lays on the edge of the bed under the musty covers, "that young man who told us of her death; David, he said his name was."

Resigned that I'm not going near Nana's old room, I mold into my husband, "I didn't know…"

"I know," he kisses me before closing his eyes. Within moments I feel his breathing normalize as he holds me against his chest.

I can't sleep. I'm tired, but rest won't come. Finally, after what seems like hours, my eyelids begin to sag.

_"Beverly"_ My eyes shoot open. I just heard my name. "Jean Luc?" No. He's still sleeping. He didn't say it. It wasn't his voice. It was similar – it had that same cadence, but it wasn't as rich. I've watched enough holo movies to know that hearing voices calling one's name is never a good sign.

I wait, hearing nothing. I snuggle closer to the warm, solid form next to me. I'll just go to sleep. It's no big deal; you're just tired. I close my eyes. Perhaps that will encourage me to-

_"Beverly…."_


	91. Chapter 91

A deep shiver runs along the length of my spine, exciting the nerves coming off the horns and sending powerful shooting sensations through my body. A sudden cold takes over, so I automatically cozy closer to the human equivalent of a radiator behind me.

That voice, it sounds like it knows me. It's almost familiar, like I've heard it before in a childhood dream. Still, I'm skeptical; I'm terrified.

"Jean Luc," I nudge his stomach roughly, waking him with a start.

The hand around my waist tightens and I rouse him, "What, Beverly?" He croaks blearily.

I angle my body as much as I can to see him in the near-darkness. Reaching the limit of progress in this small bed, my gaze is affixed to the underside of his jaw, "Jean Luc, I heard a voice. Someone was calling my name."

"What? Beverly, it was probably just a dream. Go back to sleep." I feel his breathing start to normalize.

"NO!" I say emphatically, the force of my voice waking him further.

"Beverly," he sits up a tad, "what did the voice say?"

I feel the need, no the gut-urge, to get up and walk around. My swift exit from him side elicits a groan, "Beverly, come back to bed."

"You don't believe me," I sneer, covering my head in my hands as I pace the length of the small room.

"No, Beverly that's not it." He rises to meet me, "I've learned not to discount strange phenomena…" He starts to chuckle, "Having been on the Enterprise taught me to give credence to even the most dubious of claims."

He's annoying me and I don't know why; I'm never annoyed by him, but right now everything he does is frustrating. "Go back to bed, Jean Luc," I – he gently gathers me into his arms, and I can't help but violently shrug him off. "I said go back to bed," I almost flee from him as I run to the door.

"Beverly?" His voice is tinged with hurt, but right now I don't give a damn.

I open the door and flee to the hall, "I'll be back." I call at him so he won't follow me. And, he doesn't. Do I even want him to? I just want to be alone. I'm scared, but I just want to be alone.

The stairs creak as I go down them. They've always creaked, though. They're old and worn. When I was a little girl, I would play this game where I would try to go down the stairs as quietly as possible without prompting any of the squeaks. Tonight, though, I let the groaning emitted from the old wood call out to its full potential.

The downstairs lays silent and undisturbed. I wander into the kitchen, seeking the solace of the replicator and maybe a warm drink. Maybe I'll make one of Nana's teas. Perhaps that will calm my nerves. I round the corner into the kitchen and that's when I find it; the candle is lit on the kitchen table and sending flickers off the dark wall. My heart rate speeds up; I didn't light it and neither did Jean Luc. I know he hasn't been in the kitchen; when we came in earlier, we only stayed in the living room before heading up to bed.

I stride closer to the candle. It's so familiar in all of its banal simplicity. The flame, though, mesmerizes me. It's not a simple blaze; normal candle flames dance randomly as they burn. This one, though, undulates enticingly. I'm drawn to it as I sit down at the table, bring myself closer to it, and wave my hand over it's apex, drawing it's warmth enough to burn my palm.

"Beverly" I hear the voice again. This time, though, it's comforting – almost alluring. Words bleed from my mouth in response, "I'm here."


	92. Chapter 92

This flame… this flame is so beautiful. My hand is burning and peripherally I can smell the skin scorching. Intuitively, I know it's going to leave a scar and it's going to be painful, but right now I'm drawn to the addictive sensation of it's warmth. The intense heat spreads from the burning on my hand through to my whole body.

"Do you remember me, Beverly?" The smooth echoing voice posits.

Do I? Yes… I remember. I lit the candle once when I was a girl and I heard the same voice. I must have forgotten that experience, but right now I'm drawn back to that memory as if it just happened. I was in the kitchen. It was dark, and I was cold. I saw the candle sitting on the table so I lit it with the lighter sitting on the counter. I remember that the house was frigid and my fingers were white with cold. The candle, though, warmed them immediately, infusing them painfully with warm blood. I remember being mesmerised before Nana came up behind me and took the candle, robbing me of the warming sensation. "Not now, Beverly." She cautioned, "When you're older." Then I was confused, but now I'm beginning to understand.

"Who are you?" I whisper.

In a second I feel warm hands on my shoulders, "My name is Ronin. I knew your grandmother quite well."

"Nana," I smile. "I miss Nana."

Without warning, I see a tall figure come into my view. He towers above me. I visually size him up. He's taller than Jean Luc. Jean Luc is only a few inches taller than myself, but if I were standing I might only reach Ronin's chin. His hair is a sandy blond colour and it's arranged floppily around his head. I don't find him attractive physically – I think mentally I'm still attached to my husband. But, Ronin's presence is like an aphrodisiac. I can't seem to get enough.

"I miss her, too, Beverly. But, you and I are going to get to know one another very well. Felisa would have wanted that; that's why she left the candle lit." I should be cognitive about the situation. I should make the mental link between this man and the candle, but right now all I want is to be near him. Thoughts of his origin and what he is are absent from my mind.

He continues, "Felisa and I were very happy together, and I know that we will be too." I just nod my head dumbly.

He moves closer to me, his hands still resting on my shoulder, and I feel a presence invade me. It's like being enveloped by something other than warmth – something better than just warmth and comfort. My training should kick in and tell me to run, but Ronin… it's like I want him to be a part of me. I feel my shoulders hunch as my back curves outward. It's not a pose that I would normally find comfortable, but right now my physical body fades to black and I'm focused on the tingling in my nerves. It's a most unusual, and titillating experience.

The passage of time is inconsequential and soon I feel the world fade to black.

/

"Beverly," I hear a distant voice.

"Jean Luc?" I croak. My back hurts and I'm tired.

"Beverly," warm arms envelope me and bring me back to the present. These arms, though they usually bring me comfort, now bring me to revulsion. Then I feel a soft, familiar kiss on my hairline. It's nauseating and I shake away from him.

"Beverly, what's going on?" He asks sternly, assaulting my ears.

My senses kick in and I bolt up from the chair, "Nothing!" I push him aside, not bothering to look at what I know is obvious hurt on his face. I see an old coat hanging near the door and I make its acquisition my new goal.

"Beverly Picard! What in Devil's name is going on?" He catches up to me, grabbing my arm.

Again I shove him off, "Nothing, Jean Luc. Just leave me alone." I want him to leave. I just want more of Ronin. Where is Ronin? I need to have him. Why did he leave me?

"Beverly!" His hand comes and envelops my whole upper arm, firmly gripping it and drawing a moan of pain and frustration from my lips. I try to get away, but the hold only tightens.

"Goddammit Jean Luc!" I push and pound against his hard chest. "I don't want you! Leave me alone! Let me go!" Tears spring forth from my eyes. Why would I say that to him? I'm terribly confused. I love my husband, a tiny rational voice tells me. But, I want… what do I want? I want Ronin.

The grip doesn't let up. "Beverly Picard!" He repeats in a tone of voice that I haven't heard in 2 years. I tremble. "What is going on? This isn't like you!" I move my gaze to his to stare him down; I'll just try to intimidate him. That's when I see that look in his eyes…


	93. Chapter 93

"Beverly," his grip slackens and I cower away from him. I've never seen that expression from him before. He's looking at me like he doesn't know who I am.

"What?" I snap.

"Beverly," he whispers as his right hand comes up to my shoulder. Again, I shake him away. "Beverly, what's happened to your eyes?" He looks past me to the rest of the room, "What are all these flowers?"

What? "My eyes? Flowers?" I ask dumbly.

"You're eyes are green. Beverly, what's going on with you?" He's getting frustrated. I don't blame him; there's only so much bad behavior that one can take. "I don't-"

"Mrs Picard?" A voice calls from outside the door. I don't answer. I'm dumbstruck. It's like I'm drunk. I don't move; I don't say anything.

"Yes," Jean Luc answers. We don't open the door; both of us are only clad superficially in our underwear.

"Oh, Mr. Picard," The voice calls. "The wake is starting and we're waiting on Miss Howard, eh Mrs. Picard," he fumbles, "to deliver the eulogy…"

I'm looking at the floor, unable to concentrate on anything but feelings of emptiness and longing for a man, or something, that seems missing from me. "We'll be right there," his deep baritone answers. "Give us a few moments."

I hear footsteps pad away from outside the door. A hand's grip is replaced on my arm, "Beverly," I hear Jean Luc whisper, "We've got to get dressed…" I nod dumbly as he leads me up the stairs.

He doesn't say anything. He simply shrugs on black pants and a white collared shirt. I do the same. The motion is automatic. I don't bother with make up. I don't care about the dark circles under my eyes. No one will say anything. My shirt hangs un-tucked and messy. My hair remains a long curly mess.

"Let's go," he whispers. "We'll finish this later." Before we leave, I feel his hands halt my movement. I choose not to look at him as he tucks in my shirt, his hands diving down into my pants. The movement is rough and if this were any other time, the gesture would be erotic. Right now, though, it's gruff and utilitarian. Moreover, I'm not really focused on him.

/

The room is quite full, I notice. Her coffin is open; I can see it at the head of the chapel. Mourners walk past, tears streaming down their faces. I walk through them, peripherally feeling hands on my back and shoulders while people utter words of comfort. I don't really hear them, though. I'm still focused on Ronin. Where is he? He said he loved Nana; why isn't he here? Doesn't he want to say goodbye?

I approach the large wooden casket, people parting like the red sea. Trepidation takes over as I come close, not quite seeing her yet. And here she is. She looks just like I remember, just with more lines on her face. She's small. Her long grey hair is fixed up on top of her head in a neat bun. An antique cross hands from her neck over her bosom. She looks peaceful with a small smile tugging at the corners of her thin lips. She could almost be sleeping, I notice, and engaged in a fanciful dream.

In the midst of my private moment, I feel eyes burning through me. My focus is torn from Nana to a man standing over to my right. I don't know him and I can't discern the look that he's giving me. It's concern. No, it's terror. He notices my attention to him and he turns away. I brush off the moment, returning my gaze to Nana. I'm about to leave and return to my seat when I notice that everyone in the chapel is seated and looking at me expectantly. It dawns on me that they're expecting a eulogy.

I feel like a kid in a play who hasn't practiced their lines and is now fumbling. I don't know what to say. Think, Beverly, think! I turn and walk to the podium. I saunter slowly up the steps, biding my time and trying to conjure something to say. I turn to the crowd and close my eyes. I clear my throat, "Eh, Nana," I look around nervously. Where is Ronin? "Nana – most of you will remember Nana as a healer. But, uh," I nervously wipe my itching nose, "she was more than that. Often she'd, uh, offer up medicinal teas and sometimes advice that was-" There he is. Ronin. He's here. I stumble down the podium mid sentence as I see him disappear outside the church. "Wait!" I call. Gasps and questions create a worried din as I amble down the aisle of the chapel.

"Beverly!" I hear a familiar voice call after me, but it's no use. I don't stop.

My feet carry me back to the cottage, just a few moments from the chapel. My hand once again manipulates the doorknob and I stumble through into the small foyer. Darkness and the piquant smell of camellias hits me. "Ronin!" I call. "Ronin are you here?"

His tall form again materializes as he walks out from the kitchen. "Beverly," He sighs and quickens his pace as he treads noiselessly over to me. "Beverly," he repeats.

"Where were you this morning?" I ask breathlessly. I feel him take me into his arms. There's not warmth in them, but his presence is soothing. "I look for you. Where did you go?"

He shakes his head and grins, "I'm always with you, Beverly. We're going to be together forever." He looks around over my head towards the window. He seems to sense a movement. "We're going to be joined, Beverly. Would you like that?"

The door crashes open before I can answer to the affirmative, "NO!" A commanding baritone shouts. "Beverly!"


	94. Chapter 94

**Thanks for reading guys! Hope this fits the bill! **

Jean Luc and that strange man crash through the door, "Beverly! Stop!"

I'm incredibly annoyed that he's here. That is my theme of the day isn't it? "Go away, Jean Luc!" I cry. This is a personal moment.

Before I can register it, I'm pulled away from the tall man and I'm locked painfully in Jean Luc's arms. "Who are you?" He demands at Ronin.

"Jean Luc!" I struggle against his chest. "Let me go!"

He doesn't, though; his grip tightens and I can't get away. "Beverly and I are going to be together," Ronin states with certaintude.

"She's my wife! How dare you?!" he shouts back forcefully, anger lacing every syllable.

Within a single moment Jean Luc falls away from me. Dumbly I watch him writhe on the floor as a green lines of electricity pulse over him, contorting his body and creating violent convulsions. In a moment I see his eyes roll back into his head before he loses consciousness. Then it all hits me. The absurdity of the situation shocks me before terror and trepidation suffuse my entire being. "Jean Luc!" My husband. My husband: the man that I love and have loved with a persistent fierceness since I was 23 years old. Oh my God. What have I done?

I fall to my knees out of shame and out of concern. My instincts take over and I feel for a pulse. I breathe a sigh of relief when my fingertips register a strong pulsation at his carotid. I watch the rise and fall of his chest. He's only been stunned; he'll wake soon. I'm worried, though, about his heart. It'll be fine, I say. I'll examine him later. He still has a pulse and he's breathing. That's what's important.

"Beverly" there's the voice again. "Beverl-!" Suddenly it's gone as the man from the funeral rushes out of the kitchen with the now-dim candleholder in his grip. "Beverly Picard!" The man's voice is an eclectic mix of Scottish and Northern Irish. "Beverly you've got to destroy this candle!"

I'm still focused on my husband. "Destroy?" I croak through tears of shame that begin ambling a trail down my cheeks.

"Beverly Picard," He implores, "you've got to destroy this candle; it ruined your grandmother and it's going to ruin you!" He's speaking emphatically and all I can focus on is the silly candleholder. It's waving in the air, caught up in his theatric gesticulations.

"How, uh," I fumble. Too many things at once! "How do I do that?" I know he's right. I might not yet understand the why, but seeing what happened to Jean Luc and intuitively gaining the understanding of what was about to happen to me, I'm suddenly eager, amidst the trepidation, to find a way to annihilate that damn candle.

But then a small part of me doesn't want to destroy it…

"Alright," I nod and hold out my hand. "Give me and candle."

"No!" He shakes his head, holding the candle away from me. "I don't trust you to do it alone. I told Felisa to destroy this candle years ago and she never listened! You Howard women are too damn stubborn!"

I'm getting frustrated! "What do you want me to do then?"

He rubs his eyes and takes out a phaser. I haven't seen one of those in a while. He hands me the phaser and the wrought iron receptacle, "Destroy it. Right now. Right here. End your damn Howard curse and leave this place."

My lips start to tremble; I'm overwhelmed. More tears of frustration leak through, "I can't…" What I've experienced with Ronin was incredibly brief. He seems to know me so well and experiencing his presence is like nothing I've ever felt before. It's like being consistently euphoric, almost drugged. But then the lucid part of my brain flicks through images of my children and once again my gaze falls to my husband. "Curse?" I manage.

He drops is shoulders, "The demon who lives in this candle is dangerous, Mrs. Picard. I tried to tell Felisa, but she wouldn't listen. She'd been with him for too long. He comes when she lights the candle. He needs a host and he's been with her for decades. Now, he's coming after you. Don't ruin your life, Beverly." He sighs and holds up the phaser and the candle, "destroy this now and leave this place."

"Demon?" I shudder.

"That's what I call him. I don't know what he is, but that's the best way I can describe him. Beverly, just destroy the candle and do it now."

"Beverly," Jean Luc groans from my feet, "Just do what he says, Beverly. Destroy that thing."

He opens the door and I follow the tall man outside. The weather is stormy and the trees rustle violently in the growing gales. "Do it!" He lays the candle on the ground and hands me the phaser.

Should I do it? Yes, of course Beverly. There's no harm. But, Nana wanted me to have it. Nana wouldn't do anything other than put my best interest at heart, right?

"BEVERLY!" I see the pale form of Ronin approach me. "Don't, Beverly!" There it is again. There's that same longing. My eyes dart from Ronin to the candle to the tall man standing in front of me.

"Beverly stop! I am your love! I'm here for you Beverly! I'm here to protect you!" His voice is emphatic, pleading.

My mind is going at a mile a minute. And then... a third voice cuts through the harsh wind. I'm embraced from behind and a warm kiss falls on my ear. "Do it, Beverly." I don't see him, but his arms are warm and substantive, unlike Ronin's whose are cold and unfeeling. His voice is my comfort and cuts through my confusion like a double-edged sword. "I love you, Beverly." Somehow that's all it takes and I feel my hand on the trigger. My mind forces the nerves going to my hand to comply with its mandate and a steady stream of phaser fire hits the candle. One last shout of my name from Ronin is the last thing I hear as I drop the phaser and melt into the arms of my rock. My sanity.


	95. Chapter 95

Within a moment, lucidity hits me as starkly as the cold raindrops pelting us from above. "I'm so sorry," I sob as my body convulses with sorrow and shame of what's been happening for the last two days. "I'm so, so, sorry, Jean Luc." He says nothing; his only response is to hold my body against his as he lets me ride out the remainder of the emotions that I'm feeling.

Large, freezing pellets of water douse us from the heavens, but I don't seem to care. They're almost refreshing in their iciness. "Beverly," my husband whispers after what seems like an eternity. "Let's go inside." I nod, hang my head, and blindly follow him along the path back to the house.

I'm ashamed to admit how much this house sickens me; in a moment of realization I feel incredibly violated, but also culpable and revolted with what I've done. The smell that's wafting through the stale indoor air is overwhelming and camellias litter every free surface.

"I'm sorry, Jean Luc" I repeat for what seems like the hundredth time. I can't think of anything else to say. I was unfaithful to him.

He shakes his head. "Let's get you out of those clothes. You're going to catch your death if you stay in them." He keeps his voice devoid of emotion; he becomes like an automaton.

I nod in response as he leads me up the creaky stairs. The bathroom is small, and now cramped with the two of us. I stare at him; he's focused as he pulls my damp shirt out of my pants. I raise my arms automatically and a loud slap indicates the shirt's new residence on the cold tile floor. I'm still staring at him as he fights the damp pants down my legs. I shiver, my cold skin made cooler by the frigid air. Soon, there's nothing hiding any part of me from him. I'm exposed.

He's not looking at me as his hands move to unbutton his own shirt. I stop him, though, with my own cold hands. He understands and I move to mirror his earlier gestures, unbuttoning his dank top and throwing it aside to join my own on the floor. I move to his belt, removing it with one swift, forceful movement. I brush my hands over his arousal before I move to the zipper on his trousers, eliciting a slight moan. In one effort I remove them and his underwear, leaving him as naked as I am.

We stay like this for a moment, eyes meeting and breath hitching. He makes no effort to kiss me or even touch me. Instead, he moves past me to the dial on the antique shower. Warm moisture fills the room. I'm still not moving; I'm too numb.

He turns back to me, though, and focuses on me. I've held his gaze for the last few moments, but now he abruptly turns from me and ushers me under the scalding currents. The water burns my skin, an ode to just how cold I was moments before.

"I'm-" I start to say, but I'm stopped when his mouth crashes down on mine. He's not gentle or tender. His tongue plunges past mine as I'm pushed against the wall, pinned and held here by his arms on either side of me. I can tell he's angry with me. But, his anger only fuels his arousal and my own. I break the kiss, breathless. I make no effort to speak and neither does he. I make no effort to kiss him again; I'll let him have his way. I've still not caught my breath when another kiss comes, this one so forceful that it's likely to leave a bruise. "I'm so angry with you, Beverly," his red eyes evince tears of their own.

I nod. I know. I'm so humiliated, mortified. My own lips tremble but his kisses are persistent and demanding. My tears mingle with his as our cheeks meet and not even air is left between us. He forces me even more closely against the cool tile wall. Our angle is wrong as I feel him grab my leg, forcing his arousal into me, meeting my own dampness, which is separate from the moisture that bombards us from the showerhead. I move to embrace him, but he keeps my arms pinned to my side. Still, he doesn't touch me intimately - not my breasts, not my neck. There are no gentle caresses, no loving words. I groan at his initial penetration. He enters me fully, pressing up against the neck of my cervix. He waits only a moment, staring at me, and making no more effort to kiss me. Then, he begins his movement. It's slow at first. In. Out. Each exit elicits a moan. There's that distinctive slap of skin on skin. Its erotic cadence is only enhanced by his roughness. He's not going to last, I know, when he picks up the pace. His breathing is hitching and he's forgetting to breathe.

My orgasm floods over me in seconds, but it's incomplete; this isn't a shared moment. My body contracts around his erect member and I feel the distinct buckling of my knees as my head slams back against the hard tile. He's holding me, though. And that in itself is a mirror for our life, it seems. He clutches me even more harshly as his own orgasm is ripped from him. He comes with a scream, "Beverly!"

He stays connected to me for as long as he can before softening and pulling away. His gaze is still trained on me. A second source of moisture bleeds down my leg as our combined fluids leak out. He's still breathing heavily as the aftershocks of his intense orgasm ride over him. "You're," one breathe. "Mine," second breath. There's a fierceness in his eyes and his voice that I'm just now registering. I nod my head dumbly. "No one else's."


	96. Chapter 96

**Goodness gracious guys thanks so much for reading and saying such lovely things. It makes the writing worth it when I hear from you guys! I hope that you are all enjoying it and I'll keep updating until I run out of ideas. Thanks again. I really mean it! **

**-Becca**

"I know," I whisper certainly, my gaze downcast. "I'm-" Another rough kiss once again cuts off this conciliatory statement and beckons me into silence.

I feel his hand gently wash the maelstrom of our mixed fluid away from my thigh before he travels upwards as he washes me more intimately. Hands laced with white bubbles travel over my stomach, causing tiny visible ripples in the muscles there. The white soapy trails spreads enticingly over my breasts, chest, neck and arms. I can't and it's too much; I can't understand his compassion and his tenderness, his love, is too much for me. I'm overwhelmed by his behaviour in the face of my recent actions. "I love you," I say firmly. He doesn't look at me or respond to my admission. I say it again, "I love you, Jean Luc."

No response. He only continues his endeavor of washing my body. I'm frustrated with him. I push him away from me, against with wall of the shower, and I force him to look at me. "I love you, Godammit! Jean Luc!" I'm crying again, but I have no more tears left to show for it.

"How could you, Beverly?" He shakes his head; he's in pain and I see clearly that I'm the cause of it. "How could you do that?"

"It wasn't me. I swear it wasn't me." I say that honestly. It really wasn't, but that doesn't seem to excuse my actions or absolve any of my culpability. I back away from him, but he pulls me back to him so that I'm flush against him. I wrap myself around him every way that I can. My arms slide around his neck and I fit my head against his chest.

"Please, Jean Luc, please forgive me. Please don't leave me! Please," I say it over and over again like a comforting mantra, "Please forgive me. Don't leave me".

"I forgive you, Beverly. And, I'll never, never, ever leave you." He sighs holding me even closer to him. He doesn't have to say anything else.

I breathe against him and lay a kiss on his chest. "Thank you."

/

"Beverly, is there anything you need or want before we leave?"

We decided to leave, more like flee, just after the burial. I didn't say anything else to the townspeople about Nana after yesterday; today, I didn't finish the eulogy and no one asked me to. Isn't that juvenile of me? I'm bitter, though. I'm bitter that Nana would have left this trap, this sham, to befall me. She knows I'm married! And even if I weren't, why would she wish this on me? I wonder in the back of my mind if Ronin coerced her. But, that still gives me no solace and I'm eternally hurt and damaged by this affair.

Jean Luc's forgiven me and I don't think I can ever repay or truly thank him for that. I don't know if he'll ever know what those two words of forgiveness meant to me. I wish there was a reset button for the last few days. I wish that I could erase the hurt that this scheme has caused both of us. I know intuitively that Ronin possessed me much like demonic entities possessed their victims in old religious texts and dogmas. But the way that I remember looking upon my husband with such disdain and disgust still haunts my thoughts. Over the past 12 hours, I've held onto him as much as I could. I've clutched him, made love over and over to him; I've realised that being joined to him makes my breathing easier.

With my small bag over my shoulder I survey the room in front of me. My eyes again come to Nana's chair and the handwritten books that litter the space around it. My curiosity and recent events drive me to finally look at the journals that I'd been so hesitant to peruse at for all of these years. I pick up the book that I set down only yesterday and thumb through to its last crisp pages.

The cursive is neat, as always, and I automatically read the last sentence as my eyes scan over it: _Now at the end of all things, I look back and realize that my life is full of regrets. I'm going to leave this life and I've absconded everything that I once held precious: my family, my Beverly. I've become isolated, alone. And that's how I'm going to die. But, I remind myself that in the end, I was not lonely; I had Ronin, and he has brought me true happiness. I'm going to leave the candle lit for Beverly. I'm leaving her my most precious possession and my greatest love. I hope, above all things, that she'll find the same wonderful bliss with him that I felt, even up until the very end._

A single drop of saline bounces off the page and causes the ink to run. "But it wasn't real, Nana," I murmur, shaking my head and wiping away one last bitter tear.

"Beverly," startled, I let the journal fall and close its pained pages as I turn to what I know to be real. It's a knee jerk reaction and one that I'm accustomed to as I pull him towards me, causing him to drop the bags in his hands. "I have everything I need and you've given me more than I've ever wanted." I muffle against his shoulder, "Let's go."


	97. Chapter 97

I don't look back as I board the shuttle back to Aldrin. I don't want to remember this place anymore. This visit, this violation, has ruined this planet that I once thought brought me so much peace. I'm thankful that the shuttle is empty, bar Jean Luc and myself. Soon, the hydraulic doors come to a close and a hiss indicates their tight seal.

I let out a deep sigh and blindly reach for his hand as I keep my gaze fixed on the wall. I refuse to look out the window; I refuse to look at anymore of it. Nothing of what I once felt charming about Caldos appeals to me any longer; not the lush greenness, not the quaint antiquity, not the jolly townspeople... Nothing. Thankfully, the shuttle's ascent is quick and soon enough the brightly lit windows fade to black.

"Hey," I hear. I don't respond; I'm initially not even aware that he's spoken to me. "Hey," he repeats, tugging at my hand.

Shaken from my acrimony, I turn to him. "Hey, Blue Eyes," he crookedly smiles as he tucks a stray strand of red behind my ear. His hand lingers and grazes over my scalp in a gesture of comfort that I willingly lean into.

I remember something in the moment. "What were you talking to that man about before we got on the shuttle?"

"Which ma-?" Recollection dawns, "Oh Ned. Well, he was asking about you – how you were doing after last night."

I look down, "I didn't know his name. But, I think I partially owe him my life – our life."

"Ned Quint." He bows his head slightly and squeezes my hand a little tighter. "He, uh, knew your grandmother for a quite a while; he said he moved to Caldos soon after you left."

I hang my head and avert my eyes, "I feel like such a fool." Suddenly the skin around my eyes feels tight and I automatically rub my face to relieve some of the tension that's been held there.

He draws me near to him, gathering me against his side and kisses my cheek. "Beverly, look at me," I keep my gaze down at our feet. "Beverly," he implores again. A shiver runs through me as his hand moves to the back of my neck and he turns my head gently. "I know what he was – Ronin I mean."

I cock my eyebrows in question, "What was he?"

"I read about them in the Starfleet database after you fell asleep last night. They're called anaphasic life forms; they're plasma based. They need an organic host to feed off in order to maintain a level of molecular cohesion. It seems that your grandmother and you had a compatible organic chemistry to support his needs." I let the information sink in as a tiny modicum of relief washes over me.

He continues, running the back of his hand along the contour of my cheekbone, "it wasn't your fault, Beverly. I know that now and I'm sorry I was so-"

"No," I cut him off. "I deserved your anger. How I acted… it was..."

"Understandable," he finishes.

I move back, "No! Jean Luc! I practically had an affair with him!"

"No, Beverly," he shakes his head and calmly continues. "He was using you; it was abuse." He drops my hand and averts his gaze, "God, I'm so sorry, Beverly."

I mirror his earlier action, as I turn his head to meet my regard, "Jean Luc, you have nothing to be sorry for." I let out a long sigh as a smile forms at the corners of my mouth, "Let's go home and see the kids. We need another day to recover before I go back to work."

He smiles back, "Indeed… What should we do with our day off?"

"Well," I tug suggestively at his shirt collar, "We should sleep in – that's a must."

"Oh, definitely," he whispers as he moves closer, his lips affixing themselves to my own.

I break the kiss with a grin, "And then we should lounge and spend time with the kids."

I smile even more broadly as he moves in to kiss me again. "Lounging sounds good," he utters against open lips. Another kiss and soon enough we're making out in the back of the shuttle like a couple of teenagers on a date.


	98. Chapter 98

The chilly Yakima air greets my lungs, settling gently all around me as a cool mountain breeze brushes my hair and tickles my scalp. I'm struck with the realization that I don't think that I've ever been happier to be anywhere in my life. Here, in this small town in Washington State - a town that you can't even see on a regular map -is the place where I find my happiness.

You know, I still feel foolish about what's happened over the past couple of days. Rationally, none of what happened was my fault. I know that; my husband knows that. But for me, knowing what I experienced with Ronin and rehashing in my mind what he made my feel and how much I enjoyed it… well let's just say that it's going to be difficult to face my children and pretend that nothing's happened. How do you come back from that kind of violation? How do you move on knowing that it's not only you that has been hurt, but the one person in this world, this existence, that means the most to you?

"Beverly," there's no intimation of reproach in his voice.

I look over at him and shake my head, holding back tears of shame in my own eyes. "Beverly," he repeats as he stops walking and pulls me to a halt. I hope he doesn't try to comfort me and tell me everything will be all right. He hasn't tried any of that in the past 48 hours and I hope he doesn't start now. I hang my head again, focusing my gaze on the specked pavement of the car park.

I hear his sharp intake of breath, "let's talk". He tugs at my hand, a signal for me to keep walking. We stop in front of the car and my bag is disengaged from my shoulder. The trunk door opens and there's that rustle of fabric on fabric before the door is once again shut. I assume my position at the passenger door and step into the vehicle. Goodness, I'm being so foolish! Not an hour ago I couldn't keep my hands off him, couldn't stop looking at him and kissing him, but now my emotions have taken a 180 degree turn and I'm back where I was last night: ashamed and frustrated. I haven't been this prone to mood swings since I was 15!

A hand gently wraps itself around my arm while another tilts my head to meet his gaze, an action that he's become habituated to recently. "Talk to me," he whispers.

I shake my head back and forth again and this time, I make no effort to stop the tears that automatically come. "I'm just so angry, Jean Luc… I'm so angry with myself," I see him about to interrupt me so I hold up my free hand. "I know it wasn't my fault, but it was so easy to fall into him. And, the way that I thought about you," I gesture to him, "was unconscionable. When he was inside of me, or whatever he was, I would have done anything to get rid of you. The hatred and annoyance that I felt by one of your touches was enough to ignite a bonfire." I let the words sink in, and he says nothing. "Jean Luc," I choke after moments of silence and tears, "I'm… I'm…"

I can't find the words. I don't want to keep apologizing because in doing so I'm cheapening the statement.

He takes a deep breath and moves closer in my direction until he hits the armrest that sits between us. "Beverly, last night I was angry with you because I didn't understand what was going on. I didn't know what to think when Ronin first came to you – first started to possess you. Yes, you changed but, to be honest, it all happened so fast. I knew," he exhales and momentarily fumbles, "I knew that something was happening, but, to be honest, I didn't know what to think. And then when you started to pull away, I started getting angry. When Ned and I ran in and found you in his arms, he looked so real and human, I thought that... well I don't know what I thought. I suppose again I was just so upset and hurt." We sit in peace again, neither of us speaking before he resumes. "But none of this is, was, your fault. And," he chuckles and meets my gaze, "I know that brings you no comfort, but I don't hold you responsible for anything." The wheels of his mind are turning, "we don't have to tell Wes and no one ever has to find out about it unless you want them to. I know it's not going to be easy to get over this – it never is when you're violated. But," he caresses my face, "I'm not going to let you sink into guilt over this. I'm not going to sit by and allow you to wallow in self-loathing for something that you had no control over. My love for you hasn't diminished, Beverly. You," his hand finds its way over my breast to lie on top of my heart, "you are my life and the very air that I breathe and nothing, _nothing_" he emphasizes the last word, "will ever change that – not in this life or the next."

My tears run freely at his love for me. I nod my head, lean into his touch, and hold his hand firmly over my heart. "I love you".

/

"Wesley?" We call as we enter the house and set the bags in the foyer.

No response.

"Wes, Saoirse?" The house is dark and it seems that no one's home…

I look over and see a worried expression on Jean Luc's face. "Where could he be?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know… uh…" he looks up trying to gather his thoughts. "I suppose he could be at school with the kids." He fumbles in his pocket as his panic and my own begins to boil over. Taking out the communicator he searches through the contacts to find Wes. The device dials out loud. For a moment, we're hopeful that he'll pick up. However, when his voice greeting answers for him, anxiety again settles between us. Where is he? Where are the babies? Why won't he pick up the phone?


	99. Chapter 99

I hold the small communication device in my hand, turning it over and over in my hand. At this point, our nerves are beyond frazzled. There is no note. There's nothing. To be fair, we're not supposed to be back until tomorrow. But still, he would have told us if he was leaving.

"Call him again," Jean Luc is pacing.

"I just tried again. Nothing." I hang my head in my hands and lean back against the couch.

"Well try it again!" He snaps.

"Jean Luc," I say calmly. "Snapping at me is not going to bring the kids back."

He drops is shoulders and ambles over to the couch. Taking my hand in his, he leans over and kisses my temple, "I'm sorry, Beverly. I'm nervous."

A tear escapes and runs down my cheek. "Me too."

Desperation again sets in and lingers in the silent house. It's pervasive and it's insidiously settling into every pore. Thoughts of where Wes and the little ones could be are ever coming. My thoughts drift back to the last time he went missing. Then, we were still dealing with the situation with Starfleet. Oh God, is this about Starfleet again? We haven't had anything to do with them in over a year. What else could it be? He wouldn't have gone to a friend's house with the two kids, would he? Where else could-

My nervous musings are interrupted. "Beverly, was that the communicator?"

The small vibration in my hand reawakens me and launches me to action. "Hello?"

"Beverly? Oh God, Beverly I've been trying to reach you!" It's Hope.

"Hope, what's going on? Where are Wes and the kids?"

Jean Luc leans closer to me, "Hope," he starts. "Have you heard from Wes?"

"Saoirse and Aaron are here with me. Last night, Wes came by the house and asked me to watch them. He said he got a call and had to go."

"What do you mean, got a call? Go where?" His voice is high pitched; he's getting more and more antsy.

"I don't know, Jean Luc. I really don't. I just took the kids. I asked him, but he wouldn't tell me anything. He just dropped Saoirse and Aaron off and left. He didn't tell me where he was going or what he was going to do."

He lies back against the couch, rubbing his brow. I breathe a minute sigh of relief that Saoirse and Aaron are safe. But, Jean Luc – his agitation only grows and gnaws. In a second he's up and out of his seat and pacing around the fireplace.

Hope continues in our silence: "Do you two have any idea where he could have gone?"

I shake my head as if she can see me. "No, Hope. We don't have any idea."

We let the silence linger. I hear Hope's breathing on the other end of the line, assuring us that she's still there. "Do you, uh," she fumbles. "Do you want me to drop the kids off?"

I look over at the fireplace to my pacing husband. "Jean Luc?"

This should be a simple decision. We should want the kids with us, but for some reason it's safer to leave them with Hope for the time being. "No," he shakes his head. "I need to find Wes first. Then we'll all come home together."


	100. Chapter 100

**Thanks a million guys (esp Lindsay) for giving me some good pointers. I hope that the story fits the bill! If there's anything that you want to see or happen, give me a shout out and I'll see what I can do! Thanks guys for leaving reviews. Love hearing from you :) - Becca**

The link with Hope terminates and it's just the two of us again. I breathe easier knowing that Saoirse and Aaron are okay. But, my relief is almost forgotten when I'm once again hit by the crude reality that Wesley's missing – and dubiously missing at that. Suddenly, breathing again becomes laboured and oxygen seems in short supply.

I let my head fall into my palms as I try to hold back the tears. My efforts and the pressure I'm exerting on my eyelids is useless, however, as familiar tears spring forth and lamentably colour my eyes and decorate my cheeks. I'm not paying attention to the other occupant in the room until I hear receding footsteps. "Jean Luc?"

There's no answer as footfall sounds on the staircase, indicating a sprinting pace to the second floor landing. In a second, I'm up and out of my seat and running after him. "Jean Luc, where are you going?"

From the middle of the stairs I hear rummaging coming from the direction of Wesley's bedroom. "Jean Luc, what's going on? What are you doing?"

The desk is by the window and he's tearing into anything that might be relevant. There are just mostly papers, homework and notes, messily arranged all over the top. The bed is still unmade and I saunter over to its edge. Tears are in high production as I uselessly pick up the still-dented, recently slept-in pillow and breathe in the scent. The soft grey fabric absorbs the wetness of my sadness and apprehension as my nose annihilates any residual molecule of him.

"There's got to be something here!" His temper is getting the better of him. "Damnit, Beverly!" With that his arms have flung all the papers, decorations, and padds off the top of the desk. Surrounded by confusion, his tears similarly join mine. "Damnit, Beverly, Damnit," he cries, his shoulders shaking. His face falls into his hands, and his whole torso turns inward, doubles over, and cringes. Now, his body convulses in sadness and helplessness.

In a second, my need to be near him and impart any strength, draw any strength… anything from or to him becomes unbearable. I drop the pillow and hurry over fallen papers and belongings to embrace him. The movement and the crash of my body against his are stark and nearly violet. My body against his is a catalyst and he grasps me with a death-grip. "Where is he, Beverly? Oh, God…"

His tears only encourage more of my own and our collective moisture mingles and follows twin tracks down our cheeks and neck as we hold one another as closely as space permits. "I don't know." I repeat that statement over and over. I feel helpless, unaided, powerless... It's too much for us; first Ronin, now this. On the Enterprise we were able to weather conflict after conflict, and enemy after enemy with a practiced ease. But now, our defences are down. There's no protective shielding and no weapons array to protect us. We're completely vulnerable and we have no idea what do.

"He's my son, Beverly. My son is missing and I don't know what to do." He sobs into my hair and repeats over and over.

I don't say anything in response. There's nothing else to say. We're heartbroken. I keep thinking that perhaps this is a crude dream and we're going to wake up and everything's going to be right. But, intuitively, I know this isn't a dream. And with that knowledge I cleave his solid, warm body even tighter.

We stand in silence punctuated by sobs before he disentangles himself from me. I fully see him now: a broken, sad, vulnerable man. But then, out of the ashes like a triumphant, perseverant phoenix, determination flashes across his face. "I've got to go. I've got to find him."


	101. Chapter 101

"Jean Luc!" He's out and practically running down the hall, descending the stairs. "Jean Luc!" I catch up with him midflight, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face me. "Jean Luc, you don't even know where to look! Where are you going?"

He shakes his head, cheeks glistening with moisture in the morning light peeking through the windows. "I…" his eyes dart as though he's thinking quickly. "I don't know, Beverly." His respirations start to slow, "I can't just sit here though." He leans back against the banister, "It would be one thing if he told Hope where he was going… if it wasn't this rushed affair."

I nod my head as I try to remain as completely calm as I can. "I know. I don't know what to think. Does he have any enemies? What, I mean _what_ could be going on?"

The ceiling becomes his new focus. After a few more moments of silence, "I really don't know, Beverly." He shakes his head, "He's well liked at the college. We haven't heard from Starfleet so I don't think it's that. But, where could he be going and why wouldn't he tell us?"

Suddenly something dawns on me, "Do you think that he meant to be back before we got here? Maybe he just didn't want Hope to know, but he didn't intend on telling us either…"

"Perhaps," he whispers. "But what could he possibly be hiding from us and at this point, we were almost due back. You'd think that if he were going to play that off, he'd be back a good bit before we came in order to complete the deception..."

My hand reverts to its new normal position at my aching temple, "But if that was the case…" I'm thinking, "he wouldn't have made it so painfully suspicious when he dropped the kids off with Hope!"

He nods, "That is what I was thinking."

Frustration chews at the both of us, "So where would we even look, Jean Luc? He could be anywhere!"

We're at our wits end as we slowly amble down the remained of the steps. My mind is running through all the possible scenarios as his hand leads me to the couch where we resume our previous positions. "Would he be at college?"

He shakes his head in defeat, "I really don't know, Beverly."

"Who should we call? Do you think Sophie would know anything? She helped Wes out the last time…" It's such a long shot.

The warm grip on my fingers tightens. He smirks nervously, "I had nearly forgotten about, Sophie… but no. I don't think she'd know anything. Wes hasn't spoken to her – at least I don't think – since he left the Academy."

Stillness settles amongst the tension and we wait, hands clasped, white with strain. What do we wait for? We don't know. We're waiting for a miracle. We're waiting for him to walk through the door and tell us everything's fine; that he just had to run to campus to check on something in his lab. We're waiting to figure out what to do…


	102. Chapter 102

The sun is at its zenith; its rays are shining brightly in through the windows of the house. I love the sun, and any other day I would welcome its warmth. But, right now the cheery disposition is grating on my nerves. Where are the damn clouds when you need them?

We've called everyone that we could think of. Nothing. We have no inkling of where he could be. We've tried looking in his mail, but that brought nothing as well. All we can do is wait. And the waiting is agonising.

"Beverly?" He walks over to me.

The wall has taken an interest to my eyes and I'm so wrapped in my thoughts that I don't feel the slight vibration in my hand as the device taken from me.

"Hello?" His response to the communicator is dramatic as his shoulders slump and a visible shudder wracks him. "Wes… Where are you?"

Wesley! He's called. Where is he? Is he coming home? Patience, Beverly...

He removes the device from his ear and activates the speaker. "Mom, Dad, I'm in trouble. I can't talk long. Umm, I, really messed up and I need you to come get me."

"Wesley!" Tears come to my eyes. I'm relieved, but what possible trouble could he be in. I move closer to my husband and huddle as close as I can to the small device.

"Hi Mom." His voice is too serene. "Listen, please come. I'm sorry and I'll explain everything when you get here."

"Where are you, Wesley?" Jean Luc asks with a forced calmness.

"The Daystrom Institute. That's where they're holding me. Please."

My stomach falls out, "Who's holding you, Wes?"

"I can talk right now. Just come." And the line is cut off.

We let the moment sink. But now, more questions come. Why would he be at the Daystrom Institute? Purportedly, he was offered a position there, but he never accepted it when he decided to go to UW instead.

I look over at my husband, "Jean Luc?" He looks worried. Does he know something?

The colour has drained from his face. "Oh, God, Beverly… we have to go."

We leave the house, taking nothing with us. The car ride to the town is silent. I want to ask him what he knows. What could possibly be going on with Wes? Why did he sound like that? What could the Daystrom Institute want?

I'm in a daze so much so that I don't realize that the car's home to a stop. Like always, I'm glad the Jean Luc has the presence of mind to be sharp and focused in the face of even extreme stress. Usually, I am too. I've been in situations like this before.

The passenger door is opened and I'm quickly pulled to my feet before I hear the it slam shut behind me. His pace is quick as we run into the transporter station.

Damn: there's a line.

In my distraction, I'm so foolishly focused on the minutest, most inconsequential, things – the colour of a girl's shirt, the long braids adorning that woman's head, how bright the lights are… - as my mind runs in circles. Peripherally I hear Jean Luc's strained tone, "We need to transport to San Francisco immediately. Please," he supplicates to the operator, "it's an emergency."

Phil, the operator is a good friend of ours; he sees Wes and Jean Luc twice a day and they've developed a congenial relationship. I treat Phil and his family at the practice; they're good people and my love for him is only enhanced when he makes an exception as he allows us to cut the line and transport immediately.

I note the disgruntled looks of some of the patrons who have diligently waited their turn as we dematerialize into a familiar shade of blue.


	103. Chapter 103

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The shower of azure deposits us in yet another accustomed, yet disconnected place that both of us would have been well acquainted with not two years ago. Then, it was common, comfortable. Now, however, I feel on edge, antsy. For some reason, I'm looking over my shoulder, and I shouldn't be.

I can't stop agonizing over the look on my husband's face. He knows something that either I don't, or just isn't occurring to my muddled brain. He hasn't spoken to me since this morning. To say that I'm worried is an understatement, because I'm terrified.

Images of Wes run through my mind. What condition is he in? Who is holding him? Why did he leave? What did he mean he made a mistake?

The San Francisco transport station is, as always, hectic. If I wasn't holding his hand, I'd be lost in a sea of Vulcans, Naussicans, Bolians, Ferengi, humans, and a myriad of other species. The frenzy that my physical body is being squished amongst as we try to leave this place is only adding to my frustration and anxiety.

The door is in sight and soon enough we've pushed through the sea of people and the warm San Francisco air hits me with a fury. The strong sun assaults my eyes and the sudden onset of heat surrounding me is suffocating. I have no way of adjusting, however, as my hand is gripped even tighter and I'm yanked along through a barrage of busy people on the crowded sidewalk.

"Jean Luc!" I pull on his hand, begging him to stop. He doesn't. "Jean Luc! Stop!" I pull with a greater force and he falls back to me. I've disrupted the motion of traffic on the sidewalk with our sudden halt and people of all kinds are giving us sideways glances. Maybe they recognize Jean Luc, maybe they're morbidly intrigued by the frazzled redhead, who at this point looks like she just escaped the sanitarium.

For a moment he just stares at me before continuing at a slower pace as we make a path to get out of the way of traffic. I quicken my step to catch up to him. "Jean Luc," I lean in as close as I can while maintaining the resumption of the quick walking pace. "What's going on?"

He doesn't look at me. "When we cross," he hints at the crosswalk leading to a less busy sidewalk, "I'll explain."

More anticipation builds as we wait for the walk sign. When the signal turns, I can't tread fast enough to the other side. His gait slows, but his rigorous grasp of my hand remains steady. His gaze trained on our route he begins, "I don't know for sure, Beverly. But, eh, we've always known that Wesley is exceptional. He's," he looks over at me with a small grin, "very bright and he has certain talents that make him, well, sought after." He's quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to phrase what he has to say next. "Do you remember," he glances at me, "the Traveler?"

I wrack my brain, sorting through my memories, trying to remember the Traveler. Yes; tall man, nondescript, who we met on the Enterprise. "Yes. He and Wes became good friends… I remember." But then I remember something else. "Wes was able to manipulate those warp fields with such ease even though he'd never done it before; the Traveler likened him to a young Mozart; a prodigy." I pause, "Jean Luc do you think that this is about that?" Panic settles, "What's going on?"

He shakes his head and rubs his eyes with his free hand, "I don't know, Beverly, but I just think that this has something to do with that. As you know, Wes is doing work now with Ron Gerhardt and it's the same type of research that he was involved in at the Academy before he left. But, I've seen his work, visited his lab… he and I talk about what he's doing quite often when we're at school, and all I know is that it's very advanced. He and Ron are making some fantastic discoveries that, in my opinion, are pushing some critical boundaries of not only static warp fields, but also space and time."

He lets what he's said sink in and settle a moment before continuing, "I remember a few weeks ago, before we were leaving college one night, Wes told me that he'd been contacted by the Daystrom Institute..."

My stomach lurches, "Why?"

"He said that they'd offered him a position, but he immediately turned it down." He quickens in his pace, "And, well I thought that was a little odd. He'd been so-"

"Eager to work with them before he came to live with us." I finish.

He shrugs. "When I asked him why, he said that he was happy to stay in Seattle with us and work with Ron."

"Do you think that's the only reason?" I again look over at his worried expression.

"To be honest, Beverly, yes I do. I don't think he'd lie to us and he knows that we're supportive of whatever he wants to do. The Daystrom institute is very prestigious and if he wanted to leave home and UW, I don't think he'd hear any complaints from anyone!"

"But?" I ask before he transitions.

"But," he sighs, "If he was settled on staying home with us, why did he come here? Why was it such a hurried affair?"

"And why are they holding him?" I finish his series of questions.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. But, we're going to find out."


	104. Chapter 104

The Daystrom Institute is set apart from the rest of the city. Whereas most colleges, Starfleet headquarters, and the Academy are well integrated into San Francisco's landscape, the Institute is segregated away from city life; in fact, I've never even seen it. We have good reasons for taking our time in getting there. No, no it's not that we don't want to get to Wesley as soon as possible, but if we take public transport or if we were to cut through the Academy's campus, there is always the distinct possibility that we might be recognized.

At this moment, however, I'm hot and wish upon all things that we weren't so notorious in this town. It's still cool in Yakima, and as such I'm dressed more for that type of weather rather than this sweltering, muggy heat. I notice that my husband feels the same way when I see a lone bead of sweat meander its way down his neck.

"Have you been there before?" I have no idea what to expect when we get there. I know that Leah Brahms, a young woman that Geordi was briefly enamored with (or so I was told by Deanna), worked at the Daystrom Institute. But, other than her and Wes' brief connection, I don't know much about it other than its reputation for being an avant-garde think-tank.

"No," he states, leading me down another series of unfamiliar streets.

It's been a while since I was properly in San Francisco. I should know the city a little better than I do. After all, I went to college here and, subsequently, I worked here for a year. However, I have to admit that I was a little insular during both those periods of my life. When I was a student, I made school my first priority. My only other connection outside the campus was the hospital, and the city centre. And when I was head of Starfleet Medical, I spent most of my time at the hospital or in my office. I'm happy though, for this small diversion and to get away from the crowds. I'm also appreciative that these streets proffer some shade from the oppressive sun.

I have a myriad of questions that are bubbling out of me. "Jean Luc?"

"Mmm?" He's lost in his own thoughts on how to best get to the Institute, and, more importantly, what he's going to do when he gets there.

I know he's only working it out in his mind, but I ask it anyway: "What are we going to do when we get there?" I continue, partially answering my own question. "We can't just barge in and demand to see Wesley, can we?"

He looks up at the street sign. "Almost there," he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "I don't know, Beverly." He again turns his gaze to our feet, "I don't know who is holding him. I don't even understand how he was able to contact us so easily if he was being held hostage, God forbid! The Captain in me tells me to be wary of this situation; I can't help but feel that something's not completely right…" He's again silent, allowing me to add to his musings. When I'm hushed in response, he continues, "And I can't figure out why he would go. I mean why would he just get up and leave? Are they threatening him because he turned down the position? Is there more to that story than he initially let on?" And then something hits him. "Ron."

"What Ron Gerhardt? Do you think he has something to do with this?" This is turning into an even bigger debacle than I initially presumed!

"He's been gone for several weeks. He, uh, well I thought nothing of it at first. He said he was going to take some time with his family, but that could mean anything, especially considering that Ron is divorced. I remember Wes mentioning that he thought it was strange. Ron, though, just encouraged Wes to keep going with his work. He said he'd be back soon and then Wes could report everything that he'd accomplished at that time. But, that was over a month ago and Ron hasn't come back…"

He stops his story and brings our walk to a stop. "There," he points to a hill in the distance. "Do you see that glass building, just right over there?"

I use my hand to shield the sun from my eyes as I strain to see what he's pointing to. "It's quite well hidden," And it is; it nearly blends in with the foliage.

"Yes," he continues our pace, "that's the Daystrom Institute."

I estimate that it's going to be another thirty minutes until we get there. "Is there anyone that we should call? Do you think Geordi could contact Leah Brahms? Could she be of any help to us?"

"No," he states plainly. "I'm not even sure how to contact Geordi anymore. Remember a year ago how hard it was to get in touch with anyone in Starfleet?"

I remember what a hassle that was. The two of us were practically banging our heads against a brick wall! I let out a sigh, "I just wish there was something we could do; I wish that we weren't walking in blind!"

"I know," He lets go of my hand and snakes his arm around my waist as he slows his pace and plants a quick kiss on the crown of my head. It's a simple gesture, nothing overly romantic or suggestive. But, in this moment, I need it. I need his strength. I need to know that he's here with me and that he's in control. "We'll manage," and with that, he retakes my hand and we continue our journey. "And," he breathes, "we'll get him back."


	105. Chapter 105

**Thanks again for your lovely comments and suggestions. Duly noted! -Becca**

I thought that Starfleet headquarters was cold and impersonal. I, however, didn't have the Daystrom Institutee to juxtapose it to. As we move closer and closer to its lonely architecture, I note how akin it is to a 12th century gothic cathedral; its lines are sharp and imposing. Unlike most buildings with transparent windows, the Daystrom's are blackened, thick, and imperturbable. Lush trees surround it, quite a difference from the city proper. It's cooler here and the moisture in the air hangs heavier. Birds' songs are audible in the trees around us, creating what should normally be a beautiful sound. Right now, however, it adds an added aura of indescribable isolation.

A sickening feeling settles in the pit of my stomach and I once again pull his hand back. Gods, Beverly, you are such a coward! He turns to me, though, in a moment and makes me feel less alone – less like a frightened schoolgirl; "I know," he whispers. He looks right at me, "I'm scared too."

My previous musings about the cold and imposing architecture are again when we come to the doors: huge, dark massive structures. It's foolish of us, really, just to walk in the front door; 'hi we're here, uh, to pick up our son that you've allegedly taken hostage. Would you mind, eh, just handing him over so we can go home and forget that this week ever happened?' Wishful thinking, Beverly. And yes, it's a callous move, and it's certainly a stunt that we'd never have pulled if we were on the Enterprise and Jean Luc still the clout that he used to. But, now we're essentially menial, pedestrian, civilians. We have no weapons, we have no starship, and we have no battalion. We're alone.

Large hydraulic doors swoosh open when we come into close range and open to us a large, cavernous room. I notice the floors, Vulcan marble mined from the caves to T'Meth. I've only heard about it and seen it once when I was welcomed as a dignitary at a scientific conference on Vulcan. On that trip, I had been taken aback by how utterly black the stone was. Yet, despite its utter colour, it seems to sparkle. My aide on that trip, a young Vulcan medical student, had informed me that the caves of T'Meth offer this marble, which is highly sought after and very, very expensive. She pointed out that many believe it to have mystic, spiritual properties. Then, on Vulcan, it had been alluring. Now, though, it's adds to the cold that I'm feeling not only on the outside, but through every capillary of my body.

The hall is empty. There's a desk in the middle, supposedly where a secretary would sit, but there's no one. The only sounds we hear are the short, shallow tempos of our own breathing and our echoing footsteps on the precious marble.

We come to a halt in the middle of the room. Our footsteps stop. Utter silence… until, "Captain Jean Luc Picard. Dr. Beverly Crusher." It's a Vulcan voice, staid and stoic. There's that distinct sound of footsteps off to our left. Our eyes dart, following their pattern. Nothing, we think initially, not seeing anyone. But then, out of the darkness emerges a tall figure in long black robes. "We've been expecting you."


	106. Chapter 106

"Who are you?" He demands incredulously. If Jean Luc were scared, you'd never know it. He's trained himself well over the years to keep his emotions in tight control. His iron jurisdiction over his countenance is what made him so highly sought after and so well respected.

I don't dare to speak, though. I proved myself cool under pressure when I was taken hostage on Rutia, but that was different; this is different. Then, I knew that the Jean Luc was hell bent on finding me. We had Data, Worf, Geordi and a whole litany of people that were solely focused on my rescue. In this moment, like I said, we're all alone. And, unless magic does exist, we're not going to be beamed out of here at the last moment…

The tall Vulcan states dispassionately, "So demanding, Jean Luc…" He pauses and something else, quite like amusement tinges his voice. "Patience… What is it after all that you humans call it? A virtue?"

He continues into the half-light. I scrutinize his face, looking for any hint of familiarity. But, I don't recognize him. "Where is Wesley?" I cower as he towers over us.

"Your son is being well taken care of." He chooses his words carefully as he inches closer and closer.

"We want to see him," Jean Luc stares, "Now."

An uncharacteristic smile tugs at the plastic features of the Vulcan's face. "Very well… I've learned not the keep a captain waiting…"

He walks in front of us, his black accouterment trailing stagily in his stead as he continues his slow plod into the haunting, demonic crepuscule that surrounds us. My legs feel leaden as foreboding and anxiety chill my blood further into subzero temperatures. Even the hand that I'm holding has lost its ability to comfort me; the sweat that has collectively pooled in our palms has turned to ice.

The halls are sparsely lit, leaving me to depend more on my sense of hearing to guide my way. The echoing footfall of our guide comes to an abrupt halt and in doing so another set of hydraulic doors hiss open. The light coming from inside, though dim, is enough to make my eyes sting momentarily as my pupils adjust. And for just a second, I'm blinded.

Oh god!

My insides lurch and jump sickeningly. How I wish that I could have stayed blind when I see the scene in front of me! I quickly let go of my husband's hand as I rush over to the chair at the opposite end of the room.

"Wesley!"

I clutch his still, unmoving form, "Oh God, Wesley!" My heart rate speeds to a deafening pace, its pounding blocking out any peripheral noise. I've been trained, though, as a Starfleet physician to keep a cool head in this kind of situation. Though frantic, I check for a pulse and look for the rise and fall of a breathing chest. My shoulders hang as I feel a thready, slow pulse through his damp, clammy skin. It's obvious he's been drugged; I knew that even before I laid hands on him. He's unresponsive, almost floppy against the chair. I wrack my brain for a chemical that can produce these effects; there are many of them and most of them illegal in the Federation.

"What have you done to him?" Jean Luc rages at the tall Vulcan.

The Vulcan's placid grin transforms lugubriously into a smile, "Now, now, Jean Luc. He's perfectly fine," he motions. "He'll clear the drug soon enough."

His gaze sweeps to Wes and me, and worry lines descend, "what drug?" No response. "Godammit, what drug? What do you want with us?" He's losing his patience and I see his calm mien beginning to unfold.

"Relax," the Vulcan uncharacteristically chortles in response, evincing clear amusement at getting a rise out of the normally imperturbable captain. "You'll know soon enough." He turns to leave and the doors once again open at his vicinity. He takes one last look at us, "Oh and Captain, don't cause us too much trouble… Mr. Gerhardt learned the hard way what happens you upset us."


	107. Chapter 107

**Thanks for reading and leaving comments, everyone! Much appreciated. Enjoy the latest chapter! -Becca**

The door hisses shut and out of the corner of my eye, I see Jean Luc slam himself against it in frustration, and no doubt fear. His head against the cold alloy, his fists come up and slam against the barrier, "Dammit," he cries, his voice breaking. I don't summon him, but he comes anyhow.

A hand on my shoulder again tells me that he's here. "Wesley," he bends down onto one knee and nudges Wes' sleeping form. I stay in place, unable to tear myself from the two of them. "Wes," he repeats, taking his head in his hands. "Wesley please wake up," he pleads, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh God, Wes," he moves further up his still-sleeping body and gathers him into his arms as he levels him onto the floor with us and kisses his moist forehead. "Please wake up."

I'm so accustomed to them now that my own tears feel banal, commonplace. Sitting on that cold floor, exhaustion and resignation hit me and I all but melt. I hear Jean Luc's sharp intake of breath, "Beverly." He unwraps an arm from around the sleeping boy and nudges my chin up to look at him. "We mustn't lose hope." He tries to smile, "there's a way out of every box-"

I half-smile, remembering and reciting the rest of his sentence, "a solution to every puzzle". Kesprytt. "What are we going to do?" I cry, my voice cracking.

He shakes his head, laying another kiss on Wesley's forehead, before returning his gaze to me, "I don't know. But we'll get out of here. I promise."

I nod, if only to reassure him that I do indeed have faith in him. I look around the dimly lit room. It's foolish and pointless; they're not going to leave us a tricorder with a map of how to get out of here. There's no brightly lit 'Exit' sign, indicating a way out of this torture. For the umpteenth time in the last year, I'm heartbroken by what's happened to this wonderful Federation. Was it all an illusion?

"Why would they be holding us?" I contend after moments of silence. I look again at my son, propped against Jean Luc's chest. He could almost be caught in a pleasant dream as a small trail of saliva trudges out his slightly-open mouth and wets Jean Luc's shirt. I take his hand, again struck by its gelidity. "Wes," I whisper into his ear, wishing that maybe this time he'll respond. I have no tricorder; I have no way of assessing drug degradation. I have no way of even knowing what drug this is!

"Wes, wake up. We're here, Wes." I don't expect a response but when I hear a muffled moan, my heart leaps.

"Wes!" Jean Luc gently nudges the sleeping boy propped lazily against him and pats his back to rouse him even more. "Wesley, wake up!" He intones forcefully.

"aaaaahhhhhhh…." It's forced and pained, but at least he's coming to. I blow a steady stream of air against his closed eyes. I used to do it when he was a little boy when he wouldn't get out of bed. It would annoy him to such an end!

"mooommm stopppppp," I let out a small laugh of relief and fresh tears bud as I move closer to him and Jean Luc, hugging them both and laying a kiss on Wesley's temple.

"Wesley," Jean Luc whispers, "we need you to get up. I know it's hard, but we need you to tell us what's going on."

"So tired," he croaks and nestles into Jean Luc's solid warmth.

"I know," he rocks his lithe body. "I know, but you've got to. I can make that an order, Ensign," he imitates his own forceful captain's tone.

"Aye shur."

We share a smile and even though I'm terrified, I'm grateful to at least be here with my husband and my son, in whatever condition they might be in. I don't know why I feel the need to say it; maybe because I don't know what's going to happen to us. But maybe just because I can't go a moment without thinking it, "I love you."

He nods and manages a half smile in response, "I love you."

He tears his gaze from me, though, ending the moment and returning his attention to our son. "Wesley Robert, open your eyes. I know it's hard, Wes, but we need to know what's going on here. Please."

Eyes strain to flutter open before closing again. "I'm shorry," he muffles.

"No," Jean Luc cradles his head against his heart and continues softly, "No don't be sorry. Just tell us what's going on here."

"I," his voice becomes steadier. "I, uh, was at home waiting to hear from you two when the phone rang and they called."

"The people here called you?"

He nods against his chest, "yea, they called. They've been calling. They told me they had Ron and," tears come to his eyes, "they said they were going to hurt him if I didn't come. They said they were going to come if I didn't go and they'd hurt Saoirse and Aaron." Tears come from his eyes and further wet the shirt. "So, I came."

I hear Jean Luc's intake of stale air as he holds back his own tears, "What have they done to you?"

"I don't remember everything," he's getting emotional, "I'm sorry, I'm-"

"No," Jean Luc cuts him off gently, "you have nothing to apologise for. Just tell me what you remember."

I stroke his back, feeling the indent of his ribs as my hand moves up and down. "I, they took me into a room and then all I remember is a console. Familiar schematics from my own research, but I wasn't in a lab. Dark room. Not many lights. There was something in my arm – a dull ache."

I lift up his sleeves and find the cause of the dull ache; needle track marks around his left median cubital artery. He was infused with whatever's still mildly lingering in his system. I lay my hand over the bruise, symbolically trying to soothe it.

"Then what, Wes?" he enjoins.

"I remember words and voices, but I didn't recognize any of them. I kept trying to get to Ron, but I didn't see him."

"Do you think they were running experiments on you?"

"Yes… I don't know. I remember them asking about Jack. They wouldn't let me sit. I had to stand and my legs were tired so I propped myself against the dark console." He's silent for a moment, "that's all I remember. I'm sorry."

"Hey," Jean Luc hugs him closer, "What did I say about 'sorry'? You did just fine."

We hear the hydraulic doors open again, and another figure emerges from the dark corridor. "Mrs. Picard," a crisp female voice. I tear my gaze to the door; I don't recognize her. Come with me."


	108. Chapter 108

** Thanks for reading! Enjoy :). -Becca**

I start to rise, but a familiar hand tugs me back down, "No," he looks back to the door. "Beverly, don't go." He's terrified because he can't do anything. I don't want to leave them. But what did the tall man say? If we created any trouble we'd end up like Ron. Intuitively, I know Ron Gerhardt is dead. Wesley didn't have to tell me. No one had to; that is a foregone conclusion.

A cackle rings from the doorway, "Don't be so frightened, Jean Luc. She'll be in good hands."

"Like my son?!" He spits back.

"Your son? My, my, my aren't you possessive of another man's child!" Under any of other circumstances, I would remark to myself what a lovely voice this woman has – a handsome voice to accompany a charming figure and visage. She's tall, blonde, and voluptuous from what I can make out. I'm gripped with fear as I see her smile, waving me to join her. My legs can't help but comply. I don't want any more harm to come to either of us. In these situations, compliance is often the best scenario. But as I shrug off my husband's grasp a second time, fear overtakes me and I become like a caged wild animal, docile and frightened into submission.

She laughs and my unsteady gait. "Don't be so frightened, Beverly!" Her platitudes are meaningless; I have more than enough reasons to be worried: My son has been drugged, my husband and I have been threatened, and I see no foreseeable way out of this debacle. More than that, I have two other children at home who'll be left orphans if we don't get out of this alive. That thought in itself scares me more than my own death.

I'm again welcomed into the stygian corridor. I notice my hands shaking at my side. Stop it, Beverly. Chin up. The less fear you show, the less control they'll have over you.

After a small walk, another door slides open and I'm ushered into a room quite like the one that Wesley described. It's dim. Consoles line the far left wall, screens decorate the four corners of the room, and their blue monitors bathe the chamber in a cerulean haze. A circular table sits in the center of the room. The tall blonde softly takes my arm, "Please, Beverly," she pulls out the chair and motions, "Sit."

I'm hesitant and that hesitancy is met with a shove as my bottom painfully encounters the hard seat. "Now," she resumes her dulcet tone. "We've had a lovely, lovely time getting to know your son," she sits opposite me. "He's quite exceptional," she smiles. "But I'm sure that you already know that."

"What's this about?" I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. Out of the corner of my eye, the tall man reemerges from the shadows and takes his place at the table.

"In due time, Mrs. Picard." He chuckles, "You're just as impatient as your husband!"

"Who are you?" My eyes dart from one shadowy figure to the other. In my sweep, I pick up two more figures emerging from the calignosity to be bathed in the sickening azure miasma.

The blonde again cocks a smile, "I'm sure you recognize these two," she points to the newcomers. I don't recognize them. She chuckles at my reticence and naivety, "My, you really don't get out much, living in, where is it? Yakima? Such a silly name for a town." She amuses herself for a moment longer, "this is Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01." I look over at the attractive blonde in a cat suit. Her eyes are cold. She wears a piece of Borg technology over her eye. Yes. I remember hearing about her a little over 5 months ago when Voyager returned. "And this," she points to a balding man who is dressed in Starfleet science fatigues, much like the ones that I used to wear. His face, even in this darkness, exudes a kindness that is only enhanced by his dramatic smile lines. Right now, however, his expression is stony and frigid. "I'm sure you've heard of him as well…" I'm silent in response. "Another member of the Voyager crew, the EMH."

For a moment, I'm taken out of the terror of my surroundings and I bask in the wonder of actually beholding the famous Voyager EMH. I've read about him. Impressive that he, like Data – what is essentially computer circuitry and photonic discharge – gained sentience. If we were under different circumstances, I would be intrigued to speak with him and discuss his medical findings in the Delta Quadrant. My momentary awe is shaken when the blonde again begins to speak. "We've questioned your son-"

"You've tortured my son!" I cut in.

"Shhh, Beverly," she scolds like a schoolmarm. "Like I said, we did what we needed to. I hope that you won't force us to use those same techniques on you."

More panic. Calm, Beverly. "What's this about?" I whisper.

"Your son," the Vulcan begins. "Is exceptional. We've never come across anyone quite like him. Years ago, we received the report from your Enterprise that he was able to manipulate warp fields with his mind, transcending the boundaries of space and time. His research with Professor Gerhardt is further pushing the boundaries of science as we know it."

The blonde interjects, "We want him to come work for us, but he's refused."

"Foolish," the Vulcan laughs. "Very foolish."

"Why?" I know the answer, somewhat, but I want to hear their response.

"He can be useful to us. We need people like him, but we also want to know more about him."

There's a small silence before the female Borg speaks, her voice stern and forthcoming. "How did he come to be this way? The Borg have assimilated countless humans, but never before have they encountered a human individual with such abilities."

I answer her honestly, "I don't know."

The blonde is agitated, "Don't lie, Beverly. You know something."

I don't. I don't know anything, but I also don't know how to convince them that I don't. "I don't," my voice shakes. "I was just as surprised when I learned of Wesley's abilities."

In a moment I feel another presence come from behind me. My arms are suddenly bound and tied, "what are you doing?" Adrenaline shoots through me, pervading every cell and heightening every touch. And that's when I feel it and a sense of dread descends into the pit of my stomach and a cold sweat breaks out across my brow, underneath my arms, and in my palms. "Please," I croak. "Please stop, I don't know anything. I don't-" a sharp, rough, painful jab insinuates itself in my vein and I know with certainty that my fate is going to be similar to my son's.

"I told you, Doctor," the Vulcan upbraids. "It would have been better if you cooperated with us." My vision starts to blur and so do the figures surrounding me. In another moment, everything fades to black.


	109. Chapter 109

This is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Hundreds of hues and chromacities swirl in front of me creating a sickening hodgepodge. Schematics of all different types cloud my line of vision in the midst of the swirling colours. Tangentially, I hear voices. I can't make out what they're saying, but there's a dull ache in my arm and my whole body hurts. I feel every alveolus struggle for air as my blood burns. Figures move in the perimeter and for a moment a flash of recognition hits me; smile lines. The EMH. His face is still somber, like he too is in pain.

"What do you see, Doctor?" The voice, the Vulcan's, is like a megaphone sending out reverberating sound waves. The undulations and frequencies of his voice recoil and resound through my cellular structure, causing a nauseating rush of bile in my throat.

I can't respond. I don't see anything; just wave charts and fractals. My mouth won't move. I'm only aware of my somatic thirst and my terror. I want to run. I want to vomit. Nothing makes sense. I'm hurting. I want my husband, my son, my children, I want… Nothing.

/

A cool prick at my neck signals me back into the land of the living. Even the dim lights of this room are too much. I feel the drug lingering in my system despite what I perceive to be a detox hypospray.  
"Doctor," The voice is unfamiliar until my pupils constrict and I identify the EMH. "Doctor," his tone is harried. "Doctor, I'm sorry, please wake up. Please, I'm sorry."

The room is still spinning and I try as hard as possible to formulate words, "My family?" My voice is crackled, broken, as I try to focus.

"Is fine. For now." He reassures immediately. He's silent as I try again to regain a modicum of consciousness. "Doctor," I begin woozily. "What's going on?"

He leans over me, on what I perceive to be an exam table. "They're-"

"Who are they?" I cut in.

"Vera, the blonde, and Savet, the Vulcan, and there are others… many others. They're, well, interested in you and your son." I see him slump his shoulders and hang his head. "I don't know a way out of this. Is there," he looks over his shoulder and leans in closer. "Is there someone we could contact? This isn't looking good for your family, Doctor. I have to be honest with you; they'll keep you here until they get what they want and right now, they're not getting it."

"What do you mean?" I mutter, my eyes trailing the small, primitive room.

"They're looking for something in both of you – some genetic sequence, a biological factor, to explain his purported abilities."

"Wesley," My hand goes to my aching head. But even the action of moving my arm is pained around the bruised area where the intravenous line was inserted. "He, he hasn't, I haven't heard, he doesn't…" What am I trying to say? "He hasn't shown anymore of those abilities since that time on the Enterprise 5 years ago, about."

The EMH shakes his head, "Not according to our scans. The Institute, they've been watching him. Ron Gerhardt, he was-"

"Is Ron dead?" I don't know why I'm asking; I know the answer. But, I feel the need to have it confirmed. I don't ask how, though.

He slowly nods his head.

"Ron worked for the Institute as a type of informant, but then he started growing attached and he stopped reporting; he said he wanted out." He again looks over his shoulder, "You don't just get out of anything with this Institute. They run everything. They have officials and eyes everywhere. Seven and I, we, didn't know what we were getting into with them. We had no idea." He leans in close, "We want to help you. Is there anyone that we can-"

The door hisses open and our eyes are riveted towards the entrant. "Is she ready, Doctor?" It's the blonde, Vera.

My insides pitch again. Ready for what?

He turns his back to the door. 'I'm sorry', he mouthes.


	110. Chapter 110

**Thanks for reading, everyone! And I'll try to wrap up this action sequence soon. Hope you're all still enjoying it! -Becca**

My legs feel wobbly under my feet as I dismount the exam table. I've only ever felt this way once; when I got too drunk when I was out with my girl friends after finals week my first year at the Academy. I hated the experience then, telling myself that I'd never get that inebriated again. I look back at the EMH, his expression once again unmoving and obdurate. And once again, dark halls again welcome and envelope me in lightlessness as I grasp the walls and amble to the next round of torture.

Yet another door opens, exposing another dimly lit room with a table and chairs. Well, I sigh inwardly, at least these chairs have padding. "So, Doctor," Savet booms. Too loud, I think. Much too loud… "I hope that you're feeling well." Vapid words from an empty man, so I don't answer; it won't make a difference if I do or not. The EMH gave me some hope. Maybe he and, what was her name (?) Seven can help… But how? Our conversation was interrupted before I could tell him to contact Will, or Geordi, or Worf. But then what's the use of calling any of them? I haven't spoken with Deanna or Will since the wedding. I don't know if they remained in Starfleet. Data and Geordi, I don't know where they are. Worf, he's likely in Deep Space 9. No, we're all alone and unless there is a God, or Q shows up at the 11th hour and the 59th minute. As of right now, we're at the mercy of 2 ex-Starfleet renegades, and, more frighteningly, the whims of our captors.

"What do you want?" I ask directly. I know he won't tell me, but I have an idea. The problem is that I have no solution. Moreover, I have a gut feeling that even if they realize that we're no use, they're not going to let us go; they're going to kill us.

I'm again pushed into the chair in front of me. I don't register the brunt anymore, though; not when I know much worse things are coming. "You've put me in a very tough spot, Dr. Crusher-" Savet continues.

Why not be impetuous? "It's Picard. Dr. Picard." I grit.

He chuckles again, "Excuse me, Dr. Picard. Forgive me, I'm not used to your new married name. Let me begin again." He quirks a knowing grin. "You've put me in a very precarious situation, Dr. Picard. You see, your scans came up inconclusive. It appears, much to our dismay, that you are a simple human female. There's nothing in your DNA to indicate deity; you're no evolutionary Eve. Oh yes, you have above average intelligence, but I'm guessing that your success was mostly due to hard work, diligence, and connections. How insipidly boring! So, what to do?" He sighs and repeats: "What to do, indeed?"

He starts pacing, his black robe trailing histrionically in his stead. "Oh how I do wish that we could speak with your dead husband – what was his name…? Jack, correct?"

"He's dead," I spew angrily. "I think you'll be similarly disappointed."

"Oh, now, don't be so sure about that…" Again my stomach totters. Filled with bile and acid, the muscle squeezes the contents up past the lower sphincter and burns my lower oesophagus. I close my eyes, willing the astringent back to its holding chamber.

"Vera?" He calls her name but keeps his eyes trained on me with a cheshire grin.

I'm afraid to look as the door once again opens. I'm expecting the tall blonde to come in with another instrument of torture. At this point, I wouldn't rule out a stretching table or Tasers. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for this.


	111. Chapter 111

**I know some people are going to hate this chapter, but here's hoping you like it! Hot off the press for your reading leisure.**

I'm stunned into speechlessness. If I could see myself right now, I'm sure the result would be somewhat comical if it wasn't so terrifying.

"Jack," I whisper out of shock and awe.

He looks the same: only slightly taller than Jean Luc with a full head of dark brown hair. When I first met him, I thought he was attractive, dashing even. But now… now I face him with a strong sense of careless ambivalence. The lines of his face are smooth; he's kept himself well and I don't need to be drawn to him to notice.

"You're looking well, Beverly," his voice in insincere, prosaic, and dull. "You know," he laughs. "I think marriage to Jean Luc suits you," he smirks then spits: "I always did know you wanted him more than me."

I can't answer him; I have been floored into speechlessness and I fear that if I try to speak, all that will come will be spurts and sounds. Nothing makes sense anymore; is this even real? Or, am I hallucinating? My eyes dart frantically around the room, looking for a sign to answer either query. I think it's too horrible to be real. It's too horrific that Jack would do any of this to his son, or the woman that he was once married to.

"You…you're…" I clear my throat, residual bile still stinging and coating my insides. "You died, Jack. I identified your body."

He just laughs at me as if I've told a hilarious joke, "Still so simple minded, Beverly! No wonder we've found nothing with you. But Wesley, oh he's a gem."

"Don't hurt him, Jack. He's your son!" I plead as I try appealing to a greater sense of love and fealty for the son that I bore him.

"Enough, Jack." Savet soothes as he places a warm hand on Jack's broad shoulder.

My eyes dart through the darkness from Vera, to Savet, and now more incredibly to Jack, "Just let us go! We can't help you. Please." I'm begging at this point. I just want to go home.

Jack resumes his guffaw, "Oh, Beverly, I don't think you understand how this works…"

Tears spring forth from my eyes as further helplessness sinks in. "Then take me. Do what you want with me. But don't hurt them. Please." I hang my head and repeat my supplication, "please don't hurt them."

In my downcast gaze I don't see Jack round the table until I register his presence when he gathers me in a cold, unfeeling embrace. "Now, now, Beverly, my dear, dear wife." His icy hands suss out the prominent ribs on my back, his fingers linger in their grooves like he's strumming a harp. "Don't be afraid. It'll all be over soon." More sobs wrack my body until I realize that my tears are meaningless and only fuel his control.

I have to know as I push him away violently. "Are you going to kill us?"

His cold eyes lower and he gives me a wink, "Don't worry. We'll make it quick."

I have a bargaining chip, but I hate myself for using it. "You'll never accomplish anything if you kill Wesley; you need him, don't you? He's exceptional after all." But is there really another way out?

He smiles, "And again you display your simple mindedness; we're not going to kill Wesley." He mocks tenderness and brushes a hair away from my face. "You're looking a little tired, Beverly." His hand trails over my cheeks to the soft skin under my eyes as he traces the purple-bluish marks, "I'm familiar with these dark circles. You wore them so often during our marriage."

"Why, Jack?" I brush his hand away.

"Why?" He mirrors as I notice Savet and Vera leave the room. "Why?" He sits in the chair next to me, taking my hand before I recoil. "We used to be married, Beverly, and now I repulse you? Or, did I always repulse you? I saw the way you looked at him. I even saw it on our wedding day," disgust lingers in his voice as his saliva brushes across my face.

"Why are you doing this, Jack?"

He raises himself and leans over me, his blue eyes boring into my own. "You want to know why, Beverly?" He throws up his hands in mock consternation. "I was bored. Do you know what that's like? Our life was so… " He gesticulates in his hands as If he's pulling ideas out of the atmosphere, "…so pedestrian. Starfleet was so rigid." He walks in circles. "My friends – your Johnnie boy, Walker – god they were just so dull. What was I going to do, be a Starship captain? Not bloody likely with a friend like Jean Luc Picard!" He's again silent for a moment, "But you," he winks again. "You were fun while you lasted."

My body jumps when his fists slam on the table, his eyes growing red, "I was tired of living in everyone's goddamn shadow! So, I found a better use of my talents… here."

"Your talents, Jack?"

He's frustrated, displaying the choleric nature of a sociopath as he squeezes his eyes to release the tension. "I can do things, Beverly. Why do you think it was so easy for me to fake my own death? I can move things like Wesley can but not as well. I think," he starts to chuckle and a wide grin overtakes his fictile features, "I think we're the next stage of human evolution."

I'm angrier now in the face of his arrogance, "No one else has displayed these abilities Jack; Wesley's just talent-"

"Goddammit, Beverly!" He shouts, frightening me yet again and causing my spine to curve into the soft leather back of my seat. "You just don't see it do you?!"

I'm silent as his fists again come down deafeningly on the wooden conference table. "Answer me!"

"I will admit," I take a deep breath. "That I was surprised when the Traveler told me that Wes was like Mozart. I always knew he was gifted, but I never considered him a prodigy."

He smiles, "Oh yes, the Traveler." He says the name with disdain, but a hint of knowing.

And then it hits me again and the leaden weight in my stomach augments. "What happened to the Traveler, Jack?"

He wipes his forehead again and spins on his heels, "Oh poor fellow. Another unfortunate accident in our quest for perfection. But don't be sad, Beverly, he died for the cause. Just like you and Johnnie will."

"Why kill Jean Luc and I, Jack? What have you got to gain?"

"Well, nothing really, I suppose," he responds contemplatively as he rounds the table and again takes my hand with a stifling force. "But you don't really think we're going to let you out of here knowing what you know."


	112. Chapter 112

**No one hate me. Stay tuned (trust me, you'll want to)! -Becca**

"Please, Jack," My lips curl inwards and are met by the dryness of my mouth. All residual moisture in my body has left, fled as tears of sorrow, sadness, panic, and fear, leaving only parchment in their stead.

"Now, Beverly, don't be frightened," he kisses my temple as he moves around my chair to stand behind me.

"Please, Jack." I repeat, knowing that it makes no difference. Icy hands grab my forearms and twist them unnaturally behind my back. I don't cry out, however, in amid the obscene, almost audible, tearing of rotator cuff muscles. It's a waste to cry; there's no pity left in him – no soul.

"Begging me, Beverly, won't do you any good." He ties my arms with a band, holding them firmly in place. I know it won't, so I resign myself to silence.

Images of my husband and my children flood my mind. In a moment, I transport myself from here and I'm lying with him in our bed. I'm warm, covered by his body. I block out the feeling of the restraints bruising and cutting into my skin as I feel my own warm blood trickle down through my fingertips. I focus in on Jean Luc's lips on my neck where he's feathering hot, warm, delicious kisses. I try to focus on how I feel when his hands slide down over my hip, and lower. Despite my pain, my eyes are closed and a small smile quirks on the corners of my mouth at this vision.

Jack notices, "That's the spirit, Beverly. I like you so much better with a smile. Tell me, what are you thinking about?"

I breathe his name like my final benediction. His name is the last thing that I want to say as I leave this life; His face is the last thing I want to see. I nod my head – at least I told him I loved him one last time. "Jean Luc," I whisper.

He laughs, "Oh Johnnie…" I hear him move behind me. There's a rustle of plastic and tools and I immediately cringe at what he might be preparing for me. My thoughts again move to Jean Luc and Wes in the other room. Wes. He'll be okay, I soothe to myself. Jack, however hateful and malevolent he might be, won't kill him. He's too valuable. If he just does what he says, he'll live. And that's what's important. And maybe, maybe the EMH and his friend Seven can help him.

I think to Saoirse. My little blue eyed, fire-haired little girl. I'm glad that we're dying when she's so young; she won't remember us. She won't feel the pain of loss when she grows up without her parents because all that will be left of us are photos and maybe one or two distant memories, faded like colour on old fabric. And Aaron, he won't remember us at all. The two babies don't yet understand the concept of death and loss – not in the real sense.

Then it strikes me as simply as lightening on the prairie plains that they'll never know who their parents were. We'll never be able to protect them from the rigors of this harsh world. They'll never hear Jean Luc tell them a story in his rich, melodic voice that I love so much. I'll never run my hands through long, auburn strands, pulling them into a braid before her first day of school. I never see that little boy pouting on the kitchen stool after he's skinned his knee on the pavement for the first time.

I let myself pray, for only just the second time, that perhaps there is an afterlife – somewhere beautiful where I'll see my husband again. And one day, hopefully in the very distant future, our children…

I hear Jack's sharp intake of breath. "This is going to hurt a bit, Beverly. I'm not a doctor so forgive my digging." There's no remorse in his voice; he has no compassion. I flinch violently when I feel the sharp, thick-barreled needle bore its way into my skin. His angle is wrong and I can feel the tearing of tendons as he searches for a vein, or an artery. From what I can tell, it's an 18-gauge needle usually reserved for an infusion of large volumes of fluid. "I think I'm in," he drawls, jiggling the needle for emphasis.

I don't respond. "Sorry, Bevs, but like I said, I'm not a doctor. And it won't matter how badly I've damaged your arm; you won't be needing it anyway…" He slaps my upper arm jovially, eliciting another wince.

He returns to his position behind me, just out of my line of sight. "Now this," he brings to view a large saline-like bag. "This is Pur'pard." I've heard of it. It's derived from a rare plant on Kronos, the Kingon homeworld, and it's lethal in high doses. It's also a terribly painful drug. It stings the vessels and causes hemolysis of the red blood cells. The body becomes rapidly anemic and is starved of oxygen. I brace myself for at least 2 agonising hours of dying. 2 agonising hours thinking of my family and my life; being taunted by images of my 3 beautiful children whom I'll never hold again. 2 agonising hours torturing myself for my affair with Ronin. 2 agonising hours of hating myself for not telling Jean Luc that I loved him when I was 23 and averting not only this disaster, but over 20 years of frustration and longing.

"Now, I'll just hang this up right over here," He's pointing to something, but I don't look; I keep my gaze down at my lap.

I've given up. "Okay," I whisper softly, acquiescing my death.

He rounds the chair and kneels in front of me with a feigned look of penitence. In one slow, excruciating moment, he leans in, opens his mouth, and kisses me. His cold tongue sweeps along my bottom lip, requesting entry into my heat. I keep my lips clamped; my kisses and my body are willingly reserved for my husband. He pulls away and laughs against my mouth, "Goodbye, Beverly."


	113. Chapter 113

The Pur'pard is burning as it percolates through my vessels. Jack, he's just sitting here looking at me with a crooked grin on his face. He wants me to talk; he's proud that he was able to fake his death and pull off this stunt. He's abnormally satisfied that he left me and he wants me to ask the how. He wants to gloat, but I won't give him the satisfaction. So, I just hang my head and continue on my previous line of thought.

"Did I ever tell you, Beverly, how beautiful you are?" My stomach turns. "Don't you want to know why I left Wesley so many messages – all those holo-projections, all those 'visions'?" No. I don't. I want to die in peace, unmolested by him.

I hear movement outside the door as my body de novo fabricates more salty tears; I must be hallucinating. There's a commotion and a familiar voice shouting, but I'm resigned to die and I chock what I'm hearing up to my wistful imagination; I've given up. I feel more Pur'pard enter the small vein that he's catheterized with an aching burn.

And then, like my prayers have been heard by a far off deity, the door hisses open with a fervor. My vision is blurry from the tears and from the drug, but I still see him – them- and I refuse to believe that it's true.

I look at his hand holding a familiar small grey weapon, confirming that what I heard moments ago was phaser fire. He's adamant and I've seen that look of determination on his face many times before when we were on the Enterprise. His lines are firm, staid as he registers whom the other occupant of the room is. He looks at me and his face immediately blazons a look of true horror and agony.

Barreling in behind him are the woman I've told was Seven, the EMH, and Wesley who I note is still limp, but trying to be brave and tough it out. Jean Luc is out of breath, adrenaline surging through him, as his eyes sweep and regard the other occupant of the room. It's then that he registers with terror, "Jack!"

Intuitively, he knows this isn't the same man who he was friends with all those years ago. Well, he was the same man, but he hid it well. Jack smiles and rests his elbows comfortably on the table in front of him. "Johnnie, Johnnie, Johnnie. You know," he starts to get up.

"Don't move," Jean Luc shouts, his phaser trained on Jack.

I'm watching the scene in front of me through lidded eyes. It's been a while since the infusion was started and I'm already feeling weak, a testament to the brain's lack of oxygen and my overall severe dehydration.

With a start, I feel the needle being pulled out of my arm and the restraints loosened. My shoulder joint has been dislocated and I can't move my left arm without pain. "I'm sorry," the EMH whispers into my ear. "I have to set the joint. It's going to hurt."

I nod and look away, "Just do it," I cry; I'm no stranger to pain.

"I've had a lovely chat with your wife, Jean Luc." He laughs, seated in his chair. "I even kissed her," he quirks a grin. "I'm sure you know how good she tastes."

The veins on my husband's neck are bulging and his breathing is shallow. "You bastard."

Jack's eyes dart to Wesley, "My son," he holds out his arms to signal an embrace. "How I've missed you, son. We're going to do wonderful, great things together, my precious boy."

"I'm not your son," Wesley's voice becomes steadier and bitterer as he moves closer to Jean Luc.

Jack laughs and stares at the two men opposite him. "Seems like you got everything you wanted, Johnnie: my son, my wife. Tell me, was it worth the wait?"

"How could you, Jack?" he pleads, not slackening his grip on the weapon.

"Don't be so surprised," he reclines comfortably in the high-back chair. "It's cute, this…" he twirls his index finger in the air, "this stunt you're playing. You know you'll never leave here alive."

The tall Borg, Seven, interjects, "Savet and Vera are dead."

He smiles, "they're inconsequential, Seven. I thought you were bright; you should know th-"

"The other eight floors are sealed off. Transporters are offline and communications have been terminated."

His face pales. I feel a pop and with a jab of discomfort my shoulder is again mobile, albeit painfully. I try to rise, but a hand on my shoulder signals me to remain seated. It's no use anyway – I don't think I could stand if I tried.

In a moment, Jack knows his fate; he knows he won't leave this room. "Jack." He turns to Wesley, whose eyes are trained on the Jack withsadness. "Oh, Jack," Jean Luc repeats mournfully. He now looks like I did – like a caged animal. He's desperate. In a moment of distraction as Jean Luc regards Wesley gravely with the knowledge of what he's about to do, Jack quickly reaches for his belt.

"Jean Luc!" I cry weakly when I see Jack pull out his own phaser. Then, with trained reflexes like a cat, a stream of fire alights the room and Jack falls to the ground. I let out a sob as I see my husband's shoulders slump in exhaustion and the weapon drop listlessly from his hand. "I'm so sorry, Wesley," he embraces the young man whose standing close to him and whose eyes haven't moved from the warm corpse on the other side of the room.

Wesley hangs his head and nods, "Thank you." He throws himself into Jean Luc's arms that steadily come up to envelope him as his tears fall. "I'm so sorry Wes." He repeats against his ear, "I'm so, so sorry."

I see Wesley pull back just as I feel a hypospray at my neck. But my attention is not focused on myself, but on the moment between the two men. "What did I say," I see Wesley manage through tears, "about 'sorry'?"

Jean Luc nods gratefully and hugs him again.

"He's dead," Seven announces from the opposite side of the chamber.

"As expected," the EMH adds sardonically and unnecessarily.

"Beverly," Jean Luc's tears come freshly as he hobbles over to where I'm sitting. I don't think he knows about my shoulder as he gathers my form tightly against him. I don't mean to, I don't want to lose contact, but I wince in pain and he quickly pulls away. "Beverly? I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

I shake my head as I sob with relief, "no, no." I bring my free hand up to trace the precious lines of his face, reveling in my happiness and mirth to see him again. He gathers me against him a second time, more gently this time. "I'm so sorry," his body shakes with sorrow.

"No," I shake my head against his shoulder. "Don't be sorry."

"Mom," Wesley bends down to our level and embraces the two of us. I disentangle myself from the both of them as I hold my son's face in my right hand. "I'm sorry, Wesley, about Jack."

"No. It's not your fault, Mom. I'm just glad that it's over."

I nod my head, though still heart broken over the scar this is going to leave on him. To have such a violation at such a young age; it's more than I want for him to bear.

"Ahem," The EMH clears his throat, cutting the moment between us.

"Captain, Doctor, Wesley," Seven addresses. "It would be prudent to get you to a medical facility."

"Agreed, Doctor. I've given you an antidote to the Pur'pard but you'll need a blood transfusion. More than that, there are severe bruises and cuts on your arm, not to mention the severe damage done to the your elbow ligaments." He pauses, "I'd say you're going to need more than a short session under the dermal regenerator."

I feel Jean Luc's hands at my arms, his fingers lightly skittering over the needle marks, cuts, and bruises. "Oh, Beverly," he breathes, taking in all the incurred damage as he moves his head lower to lightly kiss away the hurt.

I lift his head, again bringing him to my level. "Jean Luc," I smile. "Thank you for saving me."

I look up at Seven, Wesley, and the EMH, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Doctor." The EMH looks at Seven, "But,-"

Seven interjects and finishes his statement. "You need to leave. Now. We don't have much time until others come and we don't have enough weaponry to protect ourselves."

"Agreed." The EMH thinks aloud, "You can't go to Starfleet medical. Too many questions, too much recognition – for all of you. Doctor Picard, is there anywhere you can go?"

"Do we have the use of a transporter?" I think of Hope.

Seven nods. "Yes," She motions to the door, "It is 2 doors down the hall."

I feel Jean Luc's arms under me as I he sweeps me into his arms. "Where?"

"Follow me." Seven's pace is hurried as she leads us through the dim corridor. I lean into my husband, recoiling in habit at the sight of the hallway.

"Where?" She asks heading for the console.

"County General, Yakima Valley Washington." The three of us ascend the transporter pad. "Are you coming with us?" I look over at the two staid figures at the control panel.

They collectively shake their head to indicate the negative. "No. We need to wipe the transporter log. If we leave, they'll be after us as well." The EMH takes Seven's hand tenderly. "We're sorry," he states regretfully. "We didn't know about any of this until we were in too deep. We're going to try to expose the Institute..."

From the sound, I can tell that Seven has activated the console, "Hurry and don't tell anyone what's happened. We'll contact you." Before the blue takes us away, "Doctor, Captain, remember that they have eyes everywhere. Be careful who you trust."

Trepidation once again overtakes me as I hug my husband tighter and for the second time today, a familiar haze of azure carries us away from this horrible place.


	114. Chapter 114

**Thank you everyone for reading and leaving such lovely comments and suggestions for the story. I truly do appreciate it and I love hearing from you guys so, so much! Enjoy the latest chapter and thanks for keeping up with the saga! J -Becca**

"Doctor Picard?" Frank, the operator, looks mystified as he finishes the transport. I can't even imagine what utter train wrecks the three of us look like – not to mention the fact that my listless body is being held tiredly in the arms of my husband.

I look down at my blue long-sleeve shirt in the light of the airy transporter room. My eyes immediately catch the sheer vastness of blood that's caked on my arms. Large welt-like marks indented with red open flesh decorate my arms like zebra stripes. My veins are bruised and the skin around them is torn and raised. Red, crushed blood has dried gruesomely on my arms and collected under my nails. I look up at the man carrying me, noticing that I've decorated him in the colours of my own torture; maroon lines decorate his cheeks where I touched him.

Wesley too has been harmed; though the welts have been spared for my arms only, an ode to my almost-death – his still bear the gross wounds of poor catheterization. I don't think Jack wanted to be gentle, otherwise he would have at least allowed the EMH handle the needle. Looking back, though, I don't think the EMH wanted to be involved in torture and murder of innocents. He is, after all, a doctor. And though he is photonic, he's still bound by ethical subroutines that have been ingrained in his basic programming. I'm thankful for what I think was an oversight in the deletion of those subroutines by whoever was holding us.

"Frank," My voice is as unsteady as my legs. "Please don't tell anyone what you've seen." I know there are going to be questions about this later. "Is there any way that you can beam us directly to the A&E?"

He shakes his head, "You know that I can't transport within the hospital directly unless I have a direct order from HR."

I feel Jean Luc's warm breath on my left temple, "Please, Frank. We can't be seen like this – there will be too many questions."

The older man looks down at the console and fiddles with a few controls. He looks unsure, "Ok," he starts, still looking down. "But not a word and if anyone asks me about it, I'm going to have to tell them that you requested it."

I nod my head, "That's fine." I can make up a story later. Although, what's the use? This news might get around the hospital before then.

Frank looks up. "On second thought, Dr. Picard, I don't think you should do this. Not like you are." He looks around the empty transporter room. As he looks out the door, I can tell he registers someone coming. "If it's alright by you, I think you should go somewhere else." What does he know? And why is he helping us? "I'll beam you to Our Lady of Mercy." Before we have a chance to agree or object, another crystalline beam carries us away.

Our Lady of Mercy is a traditionally religious hospital two hours from our home. We're all still confused. What did Frank know? But, when I think about it, he was right to send us here. Staying at County General would have been like going back to Starfleet Medical. My intention in going to County was to see Hope – to have her personally look after me. In my drug-induced haze and overall state of shock, I hadn't gone through the ramifications of again being treated in the place that I work – too much gossip and idle speculation.

Rematerialising, we're given the same crooked look by the transport operator. He, though, says nothing. "Where is the A&E?" Jean Luc asks, tiredness shading his baritone.

He points, "Just down the hall. Do you…" He looks a little confused. "Uh, Do you need a stretcher?"

Dismounting the transport pad with a quickened step, "No. Thank you."

Wesley follows us wordlessly. I try to take his hand as he walks briskly beside us. But he won't look at me. With empty eyes, he won't look at anything other than the floor.

It's a large hospital and I'm grateful my anonymity. I pull my sleeves down over the cuts and bruises and shield my body in towards Jean Luc's as we make our way to the emergency room. Thankfully, no one pays us much attention in the hustle and the bustle of the hospital corridor. These white walls are a welcome respite from the darkness we were not long ago enveloped in and tortured by.

"We need to be seen immediately," Jean Luc asserts to the petite secretary, not currently paying attention to anything other than her console. She holds up her hand and responds automatically: "There's a wait of 2 hours to be seen." She hasn't looked at us; she's amused by something on the screen in front of her.

"Please," he begs. "My wife and son have been badly injured and," I hear the hitch in his voice that signals that the tears wrought by days of suspense and exhaustion, and torture are threatening to bleed through his forced-calm exterior. "We don't have 2 hours."

The petite brunette looks up, her attention riveted by the sheer bevy of emotion exuding from the countenance of such a staid, strong man. Then she looks at Wesley and I, worn and weary souls. "I'll be right back," She gets up and looks at us. "Just wait right there."

"Are you going to tell them what happened?" He whispers almost silently against my hair.

I turn my head to partially look up at him, "I think we have to. The EMH was right, I need a blood transfusion and they're not just going to give it based on my word alone – they don't know me here." I look down at my hands, whose palmar creases are purple. My nail beds are pale and I know from the pasty look of my arms that the scant amount of antidote to the drug hasn't counteracted the whole bolus that I was given. I knew I was severely anemic before I looked for the physical signs, but seeing them concretely only gives me more of a sense of panic and urgency.

"They're going to ask questions, though," I sigh.

He nods his head, his chin hitting the top of my head. "I know. And I'm not sure what to tell them."

I reach for Wesley's hand again in an effort to connect the three of us. With my right hand I grab it, but instead of responding to my touch, he remains unmoving and his hand is deadweight in my own. "Wes," I muster enough of a voice to appear well. "Wesley ple-"

"Come with me," A nurse in blue scrubs comes out and signals for us to follow her behind the barrier separating the rest of the patrons from the A&E proper. She ushers us into a small room at the back of the department, "Wait here and the doctor with be with you momentarily." Before leaving she hands us a padd, "And please do your best to fill this out in the meantime. And, uh, how many of you are patients?"

"All of us." Jean Luc starts. "But mostly my wife and son."

She nods, "I can see that." And with that, the door is shut leaving us alone in silence.


	115. Chapter 115

The room is white and sterile and again I'm thankful for the juxtaposition as compared to the utter blackness of the Daystrom Institute.

"Jean Luc, you can just put me on the exam table," I look at the padd in his hand. "Then you can fill out the padd."

He shakes his head, "Absolutely not. You're stuck with me." He's still scared. And selfishly I don't blame him. If it had been him in that chair, bleeding, half dead – I wouldn't let him go either. He groans, though, as he tries to find a comfortable sitting position with me propped on his lap.

Wesley's still silent. "Wesley," I try to get his attention by again taking his hand. "Wesley, please talk to us." He won't.

Jean Luc touches his arm and supplicates, "Wesley, please talk to us. You don't-" he uses his free arm to bring his face around. "You don't need to be frightened. Tell us what you're thinking."

His empty eyes come to life in the impersonal white milieu of the exam room. "I'm not. I just…" he fumbles and raises his hands to compose the rest of his thought. "I…just need a minute."

"Understood," he nods, leaving him again to his own thoughts.

Before we have a chance to fill out the padd, the door opens. A young, what looks to be an intern, woman in a short white coat furtively slips through. "Hello," She greets, her back still turned as she fiddles with the padd in her hand. "My name is Dr.-" She turns and regards the ridiculously ragtag group in front of her and looks down, trying to sort out exactly what she's gotten herself into. "Ooookaaay…" She forces a smile and quickly regains her sense of composure. "My name is Dr. Levin. Can I get your names?" Before we answer she adds, "Also, have you filled out your padd?"

Jean Luc looks down at the empty padd in his hand. "Uh," he fumbles. "No. I'm sorry we didn't get a chance." He places his arm on Wesley's shoulder and gives it small tug as he tries to rouse him from his stupor "This is Wesley. And, this is my wife Beverly Picard and My name is Jean Luc Picard."

"Nice to meet you. You can fill out the padd later on." She takes a deep breathe as she sits on a stool opposite us. "So, what brings you to hospital today? The nurse told me that it was urgent that I come to this room immediately."

In response to her query I lift the sleeves on my shirt and expose the bleeding and the bruising. She gasps, "_Oh my God_." She moves her hands carefully over the bruises. "How did you get these?"

I look at Jean Luc. "It's a long story."

Dr. Levin continues her scan as she turns over my hands, doing an inspection of my palms. "Your palmar creases are pale and your nail beds are white. Do you have a history of anaemia?"

"No." I again look at my husband, seeking a nod of reassurance, before continuing. "I was poisoned."

Her gaze jerks up to meet my own, "_Poisoned_?" She's silent for a moment. "Poisoned with what?"

"I don't know if you've heard of it."

"What?" She demands, taking my statement as a challenge.

"Pur'par-"

"The Klingon drug of death?" She asks incredulously without me even finishing the word.

"You know what it is?" I'm surprised that a young, presumably recently graduated physician has heard of the drug that even I had to wrack my brain to remember.

She doesn't answer as she moves to the supply cabinet to remove chlorohexadine gluconate, saline, and the dermal regenerator. "Where else have you been injured?"

"I tore the rotator cuff on my left shoulder and the bone had to be adjusted." She takes the tricorder and scanner, waving it over my shoulder. "I think," I add. "Based on the angle that it was bent that it's supraspinatus. Also, I'm AB+. I'm going to need 2 units."

She grins, "Mrs…Dr. C-Picard, while I'm sure that you are a very competent physician, I make the diagnosis here." She looks down, but then up with a grin, "But I appreciate the heads up."

I smile at her insistence, "Noted."

She returns my grin, indicating no hostility. "Are you able to walk? I know Pur'pard makes you weak, but can you try to get up on the table so that I can use the dermal regenerator and have full access to your arms?"

It's a struggle as Jean Luc places me on my feet. They're still unsteady, but by no means as wobbly as they were. He still has to help me, though, in getting onto the table. She exposes my arms fully as she cleans the wounds and the dried blood first first with saline. Then with the brownish-yellow chloro-hex, she cleans the deeper wounds on my forearm. It's a solution that I normally wouldn't use outside of the operating room, but I can understand her use of it in this scenario since the cuts are deep. The light and the hum of the dermal regenerator indicate its work as skin cell and myofibroblast mitotic rates are sped exponentially around the site of the cuts. Up around my cubital fossa, the tears in the ligaments and blown veins are quickly healed as well.

"Now, AB+?" She removes her bio-gloves and discards them in the recycler at the far wall.

"Yes," I nod. She scans the room, looking at Wes and Jean Luc before turning her gaze back to me. "I'm going to get 2 units," she winks at me. "And while I'm gone, I'll leave the regenerator up around your supraspinatus. We really should admit you, to monitor the drug clearance, your vitals, and your labs. So, I'll go tell the nurse. When I get back, though, while we're getting you set up I'll take care of your husband and son."

"Thank you," I nod sincerely as she leaves the room.

I look again at my family. Jean Luc looks back at me and smiles, but Wesley's still sad and unresponsive. What he must be feeling…

"Listen," the door opens hurriedly not a moment later ushering a worried looking Dr. Levin. "You need to get out of here. Now."

Our relief is dashed and bewilderment takes its place. "I'm sorry?" Jean Luc's worry lines are back.

"You're on the news. I just saw it before I told the secretary to check you in." She looks worried. "They're saying you're fugitives and your wanted for murder." She unconsciously looks over her shoulder. "I know you're good people. I want to help you." She turns off the regenerator overhead, "I know it's hard for you to walk, Doctor, but we have to get you out of here and going in the arms of your husband is going to draw attention." Nothing else registers in my mind as we contemplate how to get out of here.

"How are we going to leave here without being seen?" Jean Luc's on his feet, his arm around Wesley who's gathered close to him.

I stand quickly, making my head spin with dizziness. "Where should we go? We live 2 hours from here…"

She fumbles in her lab coat, producing a set of keys. "I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I don't believe what they're saying. Not after seeing your injuries; I know there's more to your story." She holds out her hand, "Take my car and just get out of here."

Jean Luc takes the keys, "Why are you doing this?"

She smiles softly. "Lets just say, I've been in your situation before. A long, long time ago." She starts bouncing on her toes and stands back from us, "Plus, I recognize you," she looks right at me. "All of you. You were my role model, Doctor, when I was in medical school."

She opens the exam room door tentatively and looks both ways. The door opens outwards, shielding us as we make the short walk to the stairway. "I drive a ground car. It's black and it's in the 3rd row from the front. Just press this key," she points to one with an unlocked padlock. "I left my phone there in case you need it and there are some standard dollars that I keep in the glove box for emergencies. I'm sorry I couldn't treat all of you. But there's just no time." She looks at me directly, "When I scanned you, the tricorder indicated that the drug is at 90% clearance. I'm sorry I couldn't do the blood transfusion, but as you know, the body can take if from here."

The small corridor is deserted. I lean against my husband's solid body as he leads me through another door and into the stairwell. Wesley's not far behind us, "Thank you, Dr. Lev-"

"Sarah," She states. "Return the car whenever. If there's anything else that I can do…"

"Thank you, Sarah," Jean Luc quickens his pace.

"Good luck. And hurry. It won't be long until the nurse at the front calls the police; I think she has already."


	116. Chapter 116

**Thanks for reading, everyone! Enjoy. **

The rotating lights of the police hovercars make their way around the corner as Jean Luc angles Sarah's car surreptitiously out of the car park. "Jean Luc," I settle my back as close as I can into the seat back. "Where are we going to go?"

He checks the rear view mirror, seeing police enter the hospital. Shaking his head, "I don't know. I don't think we can go home."

My thoughts flit to Aaron and Saoirse. "The kids…"

He takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "They're okay…. We'll get home."

Wesley speaks up from the back seat, "Do you think we can go back to Yakima?"

Jean Luc shakes his head, "I don't know. I don't think so. People will be looking for us."

"But Jean Luc," he contends. "They're our friends."

"Wesley, I think you know that we're in over our heads." We turn onto the motorway, keeping our speed well within legal range; we can't risk being caught for anything.

"But, Jean Luc," his voice is agitated. "We don't have anywhere else to go. What's even going on?!"

"I don't know, Wesley." He sighs. None of us has any answers. "I don't know whom to trust. I don't know where to go. I just don't know anymore…"

I hear his back hit the leather of the backseat. "Well, we can't just drive indefinitely. We don't have that much money," he begins his list. "Mom's still sick, we're going to be recognized almost everywhere now that we're on FedNews and probably every other news station…"

"I know, Wesley. I know." He, too, is exasperated. "But who is there to trust?"

"What about going to Ellensburg to stay with Sophie? She lives there with her parents. I think she'd help up." He pauses before he continues. "Then we could call Hope and check on Aaron and Saoirse."

Jean Luc shakes his head. "No, Wes, we'd be putting her in danger. God forbid someone recognizes us and calls whoever's looking for us…" His fists slam the steering wheel in a surge of embitterment. "Goddammit! Who the hell are these people?!"

I look in the rear view mirror. Wes' hair is tousled, his eyelids are dropping, and lines of red mark the white of his eyes. He looks smaller now, and vulnerable like a little boy. "I don't know. I've never heard of them. But," he looks lazily out the window before moving back in between us. "Everything makes more sense now."

"Yes," epiphany donning on me as I rub my own tired eyes and momentarily refresh myself. "The EMH, he said that they're everywhere. Who '_they_' are, I don't know… But," I turn my torso to regard my son. "Wes, did you see anyone else, _anyone, _when you went to the Daystom Institute? Who was calling you?"

He hangs his head in thought, "No. No. I didn't see anyone else. Just Savet and Vera – he's the one that greeted me. But, when I was in the dark room with the console, I think it was Jack who was running the experiment." He's quiet at the mention of that name. "Savet was also the one who was writing me and calling me."

"But," Jean Luc adds. "When we told Jack that we'd killed Savet and Vera, he wasn't concerned in the slightest. I'm assuming that Savet and Vera were only the front men."

"Then where," I ask. "Did Jack come in?"

"Well," Wesley gesticulates between us. "Obviously it wasn't just three of them. If that were the case then we wouldn't be on the lamb. The EMH and Seven would have explained the situation… and that would be the end of it."

I sit back again against the chair. "The EMH said they're everywhere. That means they're in Starfleet, at least. And, now that I think about it, they very well could have been involved in that situation involving the both of you that we dealt with not a year ago."

Jean Luc nods in agreement, "Probably. But, I still don't know how we're going to get out of this. We have to get home. We have to get back to our lives. This has to come to an end eventually, but if we're caught… I don't think we're going to be lucky enough to make a second getaway."


	117. Chapter 117

**I suppose if I didn't put this chapter up, some of ye would be on propranolol! Thanks for reviewing! -Becca**

It's dark now. We're outside the Yakima city limits. For some reason, we were drawn back here. Again, intuitively, we know that we shouldn't be here. But, anxiety over Saoirse and Aaron and, to be honest, a little bit of pure foolishness drove us back like a phantom driver.

"If we can get to a computer, maybe we can contact Data." Wesley keeps his gaze trained on the lonely outside. "I think Data can help us."

"I think so, too, Wes. But, what if Data is on a mission? We can't very well call him up on a normal frequency without arousing a bevy of suspicion and alerting everyone to where we are." He looks over to me. "Are we going to Hope's home?"

I nod. "I think we can at least trust her."

It's silent here, eerie in its solitude, as we drive the short way to Hope's home just outside the town proper. Lucky for us, her house is secluded in a wooded area with no other houses in direct visual vicinity. No one else will see us, hopefully.

We sigh in relief when we see her living room lights on. "Thank Goodness she's home!" The anticipation of seeing Saoirse and Aaron is unbearable as I move closer and closer to the house.

The walk from the car to her door is short, and though I'm bone-tired I all but sprint. I see Wesley look around us, scanning for anyone or anything suspicious in the darkness. We're all on edge and we knew that coming back to Yakima posed a huge risk. But, the truth is that this is our home and we have nowhere else to go.

Surprisingly, her door opens without even a knock and a petite arm reaches out, greedily dragging us in. "Beverly," she tightly folds me into her embrace. "Oh, God, Beverly! We were so worried about you." She lets go of me and quickly pulls Jean Luc and Wesley in as well. "Men came to the house." She states at the outset.

Gregg enters the room, "Thank goodness you three are OK." He moves to hug each of us before continuing Hope's story. "Yeah Hope told me that a couple of men came to the house. I had taken the kids out for ice cream at the farmer's market. So, I wasn't here. They were asking for you, though. They said you're wanted for murder?... They said that if we saw you and didn't report your missing, it would be a criminal offense."

Wesley speaks up, "We are wanted for murder. But it's not what you think."

Hope smiles and lets out a small laugh, "I'm thinking that if you are wanted for murder then you have a damned good reason! And with all that's been going on, I don't doubt that you did have a good reason."

I didn't notice Gregg's absence until I hear him come down the stairs carrying two precious bundles. It's then, in that moment, that our collective resolve crumbles. Just hours ago, I was bound and dying slowly, thinking that I'd never be reunited with my family. I never thought that I'd bury my nose in Aaron's silky hair, inhaling his delicate baby scent. I never thought that I'd kiss chubby rosy cheeks and hear Saoirse's tantalizing, melodic laughter. I never thought I'd hold Wesley close to me. I never thought that I'd see my husband again to tell him that I love him. And now, I'm standing with my family. And just for the moment, all of us are safe.


	118. Chapter 118

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! Enjoy! -Becca**

"Oh, Kitten!" I cry, holding her growing body tightly against mine. The dull ache in my arm and shoulder fades away as I try to consume as much of her as I can.

"Mama...!" She stereotypically wraps her small fingers in my hair, and for once I don't register the sharp pull against my scalp. "Mama missed you so much, Kitten!" I cry as I hold her against me. "Were you a good girl for Hope and Gregg?"

Gregg smiles and lays a hand on her warm back, "She was an angel, weren't you, Kitten?"

I hand Saoirse off to Jean Luc in exchange for Aaron and for the next few moments, I allow myself to breathe in that familiar, downy baby smell and revel in the reality that I'm really still here with him. "Goodness, Aaron" I cry against him. One last lonely tear, all that I have left, meanders solitarily over my cheek bone and wets his sparse hair. He doesn't understand what's going on and he starts to fuss. I look at the chronometer against the wall - it's past their bedtime and they're exhausted. Reluctantly, I hand him back to Gregg and not a moment later, I feel a familiar hand tug on my arm.

The moment, however, is broken when I feel a tug on my arm. "Beverly," Hope's tone is concerned. She whispers, dragging me into the living room. "What happened?" Her gaze flits to Jean Luc and Wesley who have also entered the room. A little louder, "Excuse my French, guys, but you all look like shit! What the hell happened?"

The weight of gravity pulls me down to her soft couch. I shake my head as I lean back against its welcoming warmth. My muscles groan as the weight of what's happened in the past two days settles. "I honestly don't know." I throw my hands up in exasperation. "We were captured, threatened, experimented on, nearly killed…"

"Good grief! Well," she begins, but then her eyes catch the nasty, large bruises on Wesley's exposed arms. "Oh my God, Wesley!" She moves close to him, analyzing and scrutinizing each mark.

He looks down with a mumble, "It's fine."

He shrugs her off, but Hope is insistent. "Well that's not going to fly here; Not when you've got two doctors in the house."

"Hope," Wes looks up with tired, bloodshot eyes. "It's fine. But, uh, is there any way that we can use your console? We need to contact an old friend."

"Of course, Wesley! But not until _after_ I've cleaned up your arm." She winks and disappears into the kitchen.

"Wesley," Jean Luc pulls him down to the couch. Willingly slumping against the fabric, Wesley turns his gaze to him. "I have an idea… about contacting Data." He grapples with the words for a moment. "After Savet, Vera, and Jack… and whoever else… drugged me in the dark room – well when I was recovering, eh, I heard the EMH and Seven talking…" He pauses, again trying to collect and work through what he's going to say.

"Go on, Wes…" Jean Luc squeezes his closest hand.

"They were trying to figure out how to contact some of their old crew – you know, to help - but communications in and out of the Daystrom Institute were being monitored. Nothing could go in or out without people knowing exactly what was being said. But…" He looks up with a half-grin. "Then Seven suggested using her cortical implant."

"One of her Borg implants, you mean?" I'm confused.

"Exactly. So, that got me thinking about Data's processing chip. I remember something that Data told me about how he could use it to communicate-"

"Yes, but Wesley..." Jean Luc interjects. "We don't know the frequency."

Wesley's half grin spreads and amid his fatigue, his face lights up. "Yes, we do."


	119. Chapter 119

"We do?" Jean Luc posits incredulously.

"Well," Wesley smiles taciturnly. "I do."

"Go on," Jean Luc encourages. "How are we going to contact Data without _anyone knowing_?"

"We can use Data's processing chip. A few years ago, I was looking at his schematics." He talks with his hands, imagining the exact layout of the chip and how it's embedded. "You see, the chip was designed to be able to send and receive very specific signals."

Jean Luc shakes his head, "No, no Wesley that can't be right. If that had been the case, the Enterprise's sensors would have picked up those signals as interference on routine scans."

"No," Wesley smiles and shakes his head. "They're so small and inconsequential that they aren't picked up on by regular sensors. I presume that Dr. Soong designed the processor to be able to receive small, tiny pico-bytes of information that would guide Data's initial development." As Wesley's postulations go on, I can't help but admire him. Jack was right about one thing; he is truly remarkable.

He continues, getting more and more excited. "From what I can tell, the processor is able to pick up what are essentially AM radio waves."

"AM radio waves?" Jean Luc is astonished. "No one uses AM radio frequency anymore, Wes… Or FM for that matter!"

Wesley smiles, "Exactly. Ships don't even scan for them because they're so inconsequential." He turns his eyes down, indicating minor discouragement. "The only problem is that AM waves are extremely weak. If we intend to use them, we're going to have to strengthen the signal with something else."

"What did you have in mind?" Jean Luc asks, clearly impressed, but still cautious.

He winks: "Microwaves."

"Microwaves?" They allow the idea to percolate before Jean Luc catches on. "Wes, that's brilliant. We can superimpose the two signals, together making a much stronger current. Ships like the Enterprise routinely-"

"Exclude cosmic microwave background radiation! That's it!" He laughs, "No one is going to pick up on the signal except for Data! And the best part is that it doesn't matter how far away Data is – well unless he's in the Delta or Gamma Qaudrants…"

Jean Luc's initial jubilance is, in a moment, overcome with trepidation. "But, now how are we going to make sure that Data specifically gets it? What I'm saying is, how do we assure that there's no signal bounce back?"

"We use his barcode. Dr. Soong gave both Lore and Data specific barcodes to distinguish between their programming."

Jean Luc sits us more in the couch and leans into Wes, "Barcode? Wesley, we don't have Data's barcode!"

Wesley just gives him a knowing smile. "Yes we do. I memorized it."

The smile that was hidden by disquiet reemerges on my husband's tired features, "Wesley," he pulls him close to him. "You truly are exceptional."


	120. Chapter 120

**Enjoy this ultra long chapter! -Becca**

"But," I cut in. "How is Data going to help us?"

Wesley shrugs, "I don't know, Mom. But maybe he can help us figure out what is going on, who these people are, who's working for them… I don't know. But we can't just hide out in Hope's house forever!"

Jean Luc continues for him, "We have to somehow expose this operation and we can't do it alone." He grabs my hand, "Data can help and maybe other previous members of our crew. Maybe they, too, know something that we don't…"

I nod, "Alri-"

"Wesley," Hope reenters the room. "Let me see that arm."

Bringing towels and warm water, Hope kneels in front of the couch and gently washes the bloody and the scant cuts. "Owch, Hope!"

She swats him on the leg, "Stop it, Wes. Don't be such a baby, it's just disinfectant. Now, would you care to explain to me how you three fugitives made a break for it?"

I don't even know the answer to that question; I've been wanting to ask it myself practically since we escaped. I look to my left, "Jean Luc?"

"Well," he begins. "As you know," he gestures to Hope. "We left Yakima in a bit of a hurry. Right after we spoke with you, we got a call from Wesley."

Wesley picks up, "Savet and Vera, the two people who were holding me-"

"Wait, wait, wait a minute!" Hope puts looks up from the dermal regenerator. "Start at the beginning, Wes. What made you leave Yakima and the kids in such a hurry?"

He tries to sit back, but Hope pulls him back to finish her treatment. "Well, for a little over a year now, this Vulcan named Savet has been contacting me, trying to entice me with offers to come and work at the Daystrom Institute, a presti-"

"I know what the Daystrom Institute is – keep going," she smiles.

"Well they've been wanting me to come work with them. They said they were interested in the work that I'd been doing with Dr. Gerhardt and that they felt that my talents could be better put to use if I were there." He sighs and looks to his right, directing his gaze at the two of us. "But I didn't want to leave my parents. I'm happy here in Yakima and for the first time, I have a real family." He blushes, "I know eventually that I'll have to move out – I can't live with you two forever. And," He redirects his gaze to Hope, "I really liked working with Dr. Gerhardt at the University. I liked spending time with Jean Luc, helping him with papers and grading. I'm just really content here, so I kept turning them down…"

His voice takes on a more melancholy tone. "Then, a few weeks ago, Ron Gerhardt said that he had to leave. It was so sudden. He dropped everything and said that he was going to take some time with his family and then the next day he was gone. I tried to think nothing of it, but it was so suspicious. When we," he gestures to us, "were in France, I sort of forgot all about it. I just assumed that Ron would be there when I got back and everything would be back to normal. But…" He sighs again and lets silence penetrate. "When we got back, you two left for Caldos. The first day that you were gone, everything was normal." He smiles at the memory, "I took Saoirse and Aaron into town, we got Saoirse's favourite ice cream at Swirly's, bought a few things for dinner, and then we came home… nothing out of the ordinary; it was just a really nice day. But then the next morning I woke up to the sound of my communicator. I answered, and it was Savet. He said that he had Ron and that he was going to kill him if I didn't come. He then said that after he killed Ron he was going to come for me and take Aaron and Saoirse…"

I reach over Jean Luc to put my hand on Wes' arm, "Oh Wes, I'm so, sorry. You should never have been put in that situation."

He looks to me with a tiny smile, "Well, so I thought of Saoirse and Aaron – who I would leave them with, and I just immediately thought of Hope. So, I put them in the car and drove over here," He looks again at Hope. "Thanks, Hope, for taking them. I know that I must have scared you, but I was terrified myself. I had no idea what was going on and all I could think of was getting to Ron."

Hope looks at him and tousles his hair before leaning up to plant a kiss on his sallow cheek, "I'd do anything for your guys, Wesley. You just scared me. But, I'm so happy you're safe." She gently rubs his healed arm. "All set."

He slightly bows his head in return, "thank you."

Hope settles herself in the chair opposite the couch. "Well, go on…"

"Well, then I transported to San Francisco and made my way to the Daystrom Institute. I had never been there before, so I got a taxi. Umm," He starts to fumble. "Then I just sort of walked in the front door."

Jean Luc laughs, "Just like we did."

Wes smiles back, but then the seriousness in his countenance resumes. "Well, uh, then Savet met me at the door. We were all alone. At first, he was nice... welcoming, even. But then things started to change. He wanted to know things about my research. Of course, I was happy to explain what I could. But, then he put me in a room and said he wanted to test my 'other abilities'. At first, I had no idea what he was talking about… but then," he snaps his fingers. "I knew he was talking about when I was 15 and I manipulated the warp field on the Enterprise. But, at first I had no idea what he was talking about…"

"But Wes," Jean Luc puts his hand on his newly healed arm. "You have demonstrated some remarkable abilities. Maybe not to that degree, but the things I've seen have far superseded normal human abilities."

Wesley shrugs his shoulders, "I guess, but I never thought it was anything exceptional and beyond that experience with the Traveler and one brief experience on Dorvan V, nothing supernatural, so to speak, has happened to me."

"Maybe you just haven't been trying." I reckon. "With the Traveler, you had been encouraged and guided."

He again shrugs, "Really I don't know. But Savet, he was convinced that I had some superhuman abilities. And, in the dark room he must have gotten what he wanted. I heard him talking to someone outside the doors. He said he wanted to know the 'why'. He was hell-bent on it. There were some other things that he said, but I can't remember. And then, after that, I just remember someone grabbing me from behind and shoving a needle into my arm." He looks up and scans our faces. "Then, once they had drugged me, a whole new world was open to me. I could manipulate graphs and charts and small phenomena with my mind. But, I was in pain. I could feel them still digging in my arm, talking in hushed voices, laughing. I heard Jack's voice; he was angry, but fascinated – manic, even. He directed the whole thing…"

"I'm so sorry, Wesley." Jean Luc bows his head and moves a little closer on the couch. "That's not the way that you should remember your father…"

"No," I shake my head, my cheeks burning in anger at Jack's betrayal. "I'm sorry, Wesley."

I see him smile at the both of us as he reaches to take my hand. "You guys have nothing to be sorry for. I love both of you and none of what happened is your fault." He looks at Jean Luc, "You've been a wonderful father to me. And, whatever happened with Jack Crusher, well, I'm just glad that I've had you. So, thank you."

Moisture coats Jean Luc's cheeks and I reach up and gently wipe it away. "I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you, Wesley. That's all I ever wanted to do."

Wesley nods, "I know. But… it is what it is. Anyhow, the next thing I remember is waking up with the two of you." He laughs, "I think I passed out after being in the dark room. Whatever they gave me made me so tired!"

What can you do other than laugh? To really analyse the morbidity of what happened would be too traumatic. I laugh with him, "It certainly did. I think I could have slept for days if the EMH hadn't woken me up!"

Jean Luc draws me close to him, "I'm sorry that happened to you, Beverly." He kisses my hair. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't protect you as well."

I pull back from him and smile, "You did. You saved me, Jean Luc. You _saved_ me," I repeat with emphasis as I cradle his face and draw him near.

Hope chimes in, "So? How did you make an escape? I'm assuming based on your charges that Vera, Savet, and Jack didn't make it out alive?"

Jean Luc shakes his head, "No." He takes a breath before continuing the saga. "So, eh, we made it to the Daystrom Institute and there we were greeted by Savet. He had been expecting us, he said." He looks to his left with question.

"They made me call you." Wesley confesses. "I don't remember it, but I'm assuming that since you came I was coherent enough, even in a drugged state to speak cogently…"

"Well," He resumes. "We were met by Savet who led us into the room where they were holding Wes. He was unconscious and Beverly and I could immediately tell that he had been drugged. We got him to wake up and then Vera came in a took Beverly."

"So," I cut in, this question irking: "How were you two able to get the phaser and get out of the room?"

"Seven and the EMH," Wes responds. "I don't know how they did it, but they rushed in, amid the caucophony, and basically rescued us. From then on it was a firefight."

"Vera came after us in the corridor and before she could fire, I shot her. We approached the door to the room where you were being held and Savet came to intercept us. There was a bit of a firefight, but he fell too. And then, well – you know the rest…. We transported to County, decided against it, and then ended up at 'Mercy. Then while we were being treated the young physician that was attending to us told us that we were all over FedNews, and wanted for murder."

Hope loves a good story. "Then what happened?!"

"Then she took pity on us and," Jean Luc chuckles. "She gave us her car and told us to 'return it whenever'."

"Wow. The fates are certainly looking out for you guys! So, what are you going to do now? You can't hide out here for the rest of your lives!"

Wesley looks to the other room, "That why we need to use your console. We need to contact an old friend. He might be able to help us."

"How?" She asks.

"Well," Wesley smiles at us. "I have a few ideas."

**So what do you guys think? Who's behind all of this? Will Data help? Will the rest of the Enterprise crew? Let me know! **


	121. Chapter 121

"Honey!" Gregg, runs in the room. "Hope!"

"What?" She turns around, attention riveted.

"I just saw FedNews." He looks at the three of us grimly. "There's a bounty on your heads."

Wesley sits up immediately. "Hope. We need to use that console."

She points down the hall, "In the study."

The wave of a hand automatically illuminates the console. "Alright," Wesley looks over at us with the beginning of a grin. "Let's see if this is going to work."

I'm curious since I'm not as good with facile as Wesley or Jean Luc with the more obscure, antique aspects of technology. "How do you plan to send the signal Wes using the console?"

Wesley glances at me with a small smile before riveting his attention back to the screen in front of him. "After the Third World War, no one really used the radio anymore because they'd invented Polarised Microstream Database. But, consoles, for some reason are still able to send and receive radio signals. I guess it was always considered a back-up…"

More keystrokes and touches of the screen, "we're going to originate the signal from the console's transmitter. Every basic console has a rudimentary transceiver that we can program to send a broad spectrum of wave signals. Then we're going to bounce those signals, with the superimposed microwaves, off of local Radio towers. Because we have targeted the signal, it'll be directed to the Huebner Station and from there, hopefully it'll reach Data." He opens another program and enters a data set, "We have to condense the data stream. So, the easiest way to do that would be to use a Morse code-like signal." With a few more finger strokes, "The first bit of information I'm going to send out is a question as to whether he got the message."

"How fast is this going to work, Wes?" I know that our time is limited; we don't have time to wait for days on a conversation.

"Almost instantaneous… there might be a small lag, but I don't think it'll make that much of a difference." One last tap of the screen, "Sent!"

/

The waiting is excruciating. The weight of what's happening is sinking in – we're fugitives and authorities are looking for us. It's one thing to say, even to myself. But, the actual reality of the situation is stifling. If Data can't help us, then we're going to have to climb the ladder of creativity and I don't know where that's going to end up…. Likely in a penal colony on Cardassia….

To be honest, I cradle my head in my hands, we just need a break!

The silence between us is booming and the tension could be cut with a spoon. "Anything yet?" I ask, anything to break this horrendous stillness.

Wes shakes his head, "N-Yes!" He exhales a shaky breath of relief. "Oh my, God! Yes!"


	122. Chapter 122

When I think back 2 years ago, longer even, I remember being able to push myself well past the boundaries of exhaustion. I've said before that compared to my post on the Enterprise and the duties therein, my job with the practice in Yakima is busier. I have more patients, and a lot more falls on my shoulders personally. However, what is missing from my life here is the unbearable exhaustion that long hours and the bodily taxation that being in space brought not only on one's psyche, but one's physical body as well.

To me, it's interesting how easily it is to grow unaccustomed to that lifestyle of spurts of calm intermixed with gargantuan surges of pure adrenaline. Now, however, I'm being savagely reminded. It's been days since I've properly slept. More than that, I'm terribly anaemic due to the residual effects of the Pur'pard. The three of us have been hunted, chased, caged, and liberated all in the span of 48 hours and at the moment my body is failing to cope.

I just have to laugh at myself as I sit in Hope's study. Jean Luc and Wesley are actively researching and communicating with Data through the console. I, however, am falling asleep. My head keeps lolling onto Jean Luc's shoulder. I want to stay awake and help in any way that I can, but my eyelids refuse to stay open. I try though, because I'm not being completely truthful with myself. I try not to sleep because I'm afraid of where my dreams will bring me.

When my eyes close and usher me into darkness, I'm brought back to the gloomy, aphotic halls of the Daystrom Institute. There was that sheer terror in the pit of my stomach that I felt every time I passed through them. Those feelings brought unbearable dread and uncertainty.

A warm hand, though, and a soft kiss from the solid body next to me comfort me. "Wesley," I hear him say. "I'll be right back; I'm going to put your mother to bed."

"No, no," I croak, trying to feign actual attention.

I hear a laugh and a smile in his own tired voice, "Nonsense, Beverly, come on."

I move to get up, to climb the flight of stairs to Hope's guest bedroom, but he'll have none of it as I'm once again dexterously swept into his arms. I don't argue, however; I'm just too tired. "Jean Luc," I whisper against his neck.

"Mmm?" I feel the soft bed beneath me, ushering me into a state of restfulness. But I don't want him to leave me just yet so I grab his hand before he leaves.

"I love you." Saying those three words is like breathing to me. And now, even in a half conscious state, I intuitively know how important they are. Any time that I say them could be the very last.

His weight settles against me on the bed and his head indents on our shared pillow. "Shh," He coos, "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." And with the safety of that knowledge and the assurance that for at least another day he'll be with me, I allow the darkness to engulf me.

/

"Beverly!" I hear Hope calling from the foyer. "Beverly!"

I walk towards her, "Hope, what? I'm just in the kitchen."

"Oh," she hastily kisses my cheek. "Listen, I've got to run. Gregg already left for work and took the boys to school. We'll be back around 6." She turns around, grabbing her coat and before fumbling in her purse for her jingling set of keys. "You know the drill," she turns back to me. "Don't go out, don't answer the home communicator-"

I roll my eyes and smile. "Hope, I know. Go to work!"

She stops and grins before opening the door. "I can't wait for all this to be over. We miss you at the practice… your patients miss you and everyone keeps asking about you."

I hold back tears of both frustration and wistfulness. "I know. I miss everyone too… Hopefully this'll all blow over soon and everything can go back to normal."

She hugs me one last time then opens the door, the cool morning air gracing my face and rusting my hair. "It will," she promises. "See you later."

/

I smile at what I see when I walk into the study: Jean Luc and Wesley obviously did not make it to bed last night and as a result, the both of them are propped up, sitting and leaning against one another on the study couch. Wesley's mouth is open, trailing a very ungraceful trail of saliva on Jean Luc's sullied shirt collar. I laugh because I'm conflicted as to whether or not I should let them stay like that. Wesley will be fine; but Jean Luc isn't young anymore and his back isn't going to thank him for that strange, contorted angle.

After a few seconds' deliberation, my doctor's conscience drags me to cross the room to rouse them from their light languor. I tug subtly on his shoulder. "Jean Luc?"

Apparently, the adrenaline is still full well coursing through his veins when he jumps up with a start, "Wha - what?"

I can't help but stifle a giggle; his reaction reminds me of the time that I told him that I was pregnant with Saoirse. "Nothing," I shake my head. "Just that, your back isn't going to thank you for sleeping on that couch."

He rubs his eyes, "Oh, right. Thank you." He turns to his left and nudges the shoulder of the sleeping boy. "Wesley, wake up. It's morning." The sleeping brick, though, doesn't rouse. "Wesley," He says a little louder.

With another nudge, "Ugh, Dad, stop. Please," he pushes his hand away. "I'm up."

I smile at their banter. "So, what was the verdict with Data?"

"Data," Jean Luc rubs his eyes. "Thankfully is in orbit. Apparently 6 months ago, he transferred to the Titan with Will."

"Will stayed in Starfleet?"

Wesley pats his eyes, sweeping away the collected eye-dust. "Apparently. He and Deanna didn't resign after the wedding – they went back and Data and Geordi requested a transfer. All four of them are on the Titan."

"And Worf?" I breathe a sigh of relief that we still have friends in Starfleet. Is it…is it shallow that my first thought was relief that we still have friends in high places?

Jean Luc indicates the negative. "No; he and Miles O'Brien are still on Deep Space 9."

"So…?"

"So," Wesley gets up and resumes his spot in front of the brightly lit console. "I remembered a few years ago that Geordi was able to access files from the Daystrom Institute on the Enterprise. I don't know if you remember, but Geordi created a holo-program using the Daystrom's personnel files on Dr. Leah Brahms."

I nod. "I remember... I also remember how taken poor Geordi was with that holoprogram!"

We all share a laugh; poor Geordi never had much luck in his love life… "Well," Wes continues. "Like I said, he used the Daystrom's files to do that. And Data confirmed what I had suspected – all Starfleet ships have access to the Daystrom Database."

Jean Luc takes a sigh and continues. "Well, eh, when we were at the Daystrom Institute, I noticed that there were monitors, which led me to suspect that everything they did was being recorded."

Wesley agrees, "They definitely did. I'm remembering more and more of what Savet said when I was in the dark room. He was telling someone to record the session. He said he was looking for something and if whomever he was talking to found it, they should alert him immediately."

I think I know where this is going. "But, if they did record everything, they're not going to upload that information to their shared database!"

Wesley shakes his head, "That's why we have Data. He said Geordi would help as well, and since Will knows about the situation, he's allowing them to spend as much of their duty time as possible on it."

"Well that's fine," I concede gratefully. "But, what does Data intend to do?"

Wesley smiles deviously as he sits back in his chair. "Hack into the Daystrom's computer database."

"Excuse me," I shake my head indicating my confusion. "'Hack'?"

"It's an old 21st Century term. It means that Data is going to access restricted files somewhat illegally."

"How? Those files would almost surely be completely inaccessible!"

Wesley rolls his eyes, "That's the point of hacking, Mom: to gain access to files that we aren't supposed to see."

"Oh right." Suddenly I feel quite stupid… "But videos aren't going to be enough."

Jean Luc speaks softly and solemnly. "They will be if they recorded the murder of Ron Gerhardt and the Traveller."

"Do you really think they would have recorded that?"

"Of course," Wes states. "They were fastidious in every aspect. Everything was recorded with painstaking precision. I'm sure of it. Plus," he smiles hopefully. "Who knows what else Data is going to find…"

Jean Luc looks over at Wes and mirrors his blithe grin, "Maybe he'll come across some clues as to who 'they' are."


	123. Chapter 123

"Who else?" I can hear his astounded eye-squint in Jean Luc's voice. "Jellico? Are you sure?"

"Did I just hear Jellico?" I walk in from the kitchen, a sandwich in my hand and crumbs on the corner of my mouth.

"Mama-" Looking at the console, I don't feel Saoirse small hand reach up for the sandwich. Suddenly, I look down at her, "Oh, Kitten, I don't think you'll like this. It has olives in it."

She shakes her head, looks at me with bright puppy eyes, and keeps her hand extended in supplication for a piece of my food. I can't resist those green-blue eyes and that face that melts my heart, "Ok, but just a small bite to see if you like it."

As she scrunches her nose and chews the bread I turn my attention back to the two men working at the computer. I catch a smile in Jean Luc's face when I see him looking at the two of us. He starts, "Data's relaying us all the information that he's getting from the Daystrom Database. There's not a lot on the official database other than engine schematics and encyclopedic articles on warp and impulse theory…"

I smile knowing there's more. "But?"

Wesley looks up, "But he's been able to break the codes and get into the main computer. So far, thankfully, it doesn't look like he's been detected which means he hasn't been locked out."

"Locked out? I thought you said that they wouldn't know?" In my peripheral vision the little greedy hand returns and I willingly relinquish another bite of my sandwich.

"The computers at the Daystrom Institute are highly complex – maybe more so than those aboard the Titan. Data, Geordi, and I have to work fast. We had to come up with a way that their computers wouldn't detect us. Right now, our attempts look to whoever is using the Daystrom computer as a routine diagnostic. But, if they're smart, it's not going to take them long to smell a rat."

"So," I sit down and hand Saoirse to her father. "What have you got so far?"

Jean Luc smiles at me, "A lot. Lists of names of people who've been involved in different scandals. Paper trails of illegal activity, but…"

"No recordings?"

Wes shakes his head. "None… so far." He wipes his eyes. "I just don't think we're looking in the right place. They've got to be hidden under Savet's personal files. His or Vera's or…Jack!"

His hands type feverishly at the console. A contorted smile overtakes his placid features, "I can't believe that I forgot about Jack! This could be the ticket!"

Jean Luc looks down at his lap while we wait for Data's response. "Papa," she points at him. He just smiles at her while she formulates a thought. She looks curiously at her hands, covered in olive tapenade, and then up at me, "Mama, more!"

Jean Luc just laughs and kisses her auburn ringlets. "I think she wants the rest of your sandwich, Beverly."

I nod my head, and relinquish the last bit of my lunch to her tiny hands. "I didn't think she liked olives!" I watch as shards of the bread fall onto Jean Luc's lap. "Oh, Jean Luc she's going to get crumbs all over you!"

His only response is to give her another kiss as she shoves bits of bread into her hungry mouth, "That's alright…. Anything yet, Wes?"

"No," he looks over. "I think he's still looking. Either that, or he's having trouble accessing the files."

I'm still curious about the mention of the name Jellico. The memory of him and the circumstances that brought him to the Enterprise are still fresh in my mind. We had been on a mission on Celtris III – Jean Luc, Worf, and myself. During the course of the mission, Jean Luc had been captured by the Cardassians, while Worf and I had gotten away.

That incident was the first time that I came close to having a nervous breakdown. We all assumed that Jean Luc was dead after we lost contact with him. When we found him, he was broken. He had been starved and tortured by a Cardassian named Gul Madred. The night he returned we had been alone in sickbay. He was asleep after all that had happened to him; I had made it a point to sedate him. I had come so close to losing him that I sat by his bed the whole night. I whispered and cried over and over again that I loved him and I didn't want to lose him. Of course, he didn't hear me and I never repeated those three words until two years ago.

"Data!" Wesley smiles at the console. "You're a genius!"

"Luck, Wesley?" I grin at him.

"Oh you have no idea!" He looks over at us. "It was all under Jack's file. Everything. It's being downloaded now."

In the interim, "Why did Jelico's name come up?" I ask, bending down to pick up a fussing baby from his play pen.

"Oh!" Jean Luc repositions Saoirse. "We found the 24th century equivent of –" He looks over, "What did you call it, Wes?"

He turns his attention away from the computer. "A little black book. We found the Daystrom's little black book."

I shake my head and smile, "I'm not familiar with 21st of 22nd century colloquialisms. What's a little black book?"

They collectively smile at my naiveté. "Hundreds of years ago, before communicators people used these large electronic devices called telephones to call one another. They were-"

I roll my eyes, "Yes, Wes," I laugh. "I know what a telephone is."

He puts up his hands in surrender, "Listen, I'm just trying to cover all your bases. This is your second strike, I just want to make sure that you don't embarrass yourself any further…" he jokes garnering him a jovial shove on the arm as Jean Luc laughs with him.

"You're lucky I love you so much, Wesley," I tousle his hair and plant a kiss on his head. "So, go on about the little black book."

"Basically," he smoothes his rumpled hair. "It was where people kept all their contact information written down – telephone numbers, addresses, etc…"

"Alright, so what's in the Daystrom's little black book?"

"Names," Wesley fiddles with the console, monitoring the download. "A lot of captains, admirals, politicians."

"Besides Jelico, who else is there?"

He shakes his head in disbelief. "I can't even wrap my head around it. Some of them, I believe and then others… well I never saw that coming. But there were the obvious: Nechayev, Nakamura, Hayes, Spillings, Wentworth, Xi… and those are only just the beginning."

My eyes are open wide in disbelief, "Wesley, that's half of the admiralty! And there's more?"

Jean Luc nods, "That's just the beginning. There are at least 2-dozen captains, and then some politicians and a few members of the Federation High Council. It's appalling."

I rumple my brow, "Are you sure they're all involved?"

Wesley rolls his eyes as Saoirse ambles from Jean Luc's lap to his own. "Mom, do you really doubt it based on what we've seen in the last year?"

"No," I sigh dejectedly. "I suppose not."

"Hi, Kitten," Wes plants a kiss on her head as she settles against his chest. He turns his attention to the screen. "Data's been locked out. But," he smiles. "We got everything."

I look on at the console and my eyes nearly bug out of my head, "One Terabyte! Wesley, how are you going to sort through it all?"

He shrugs. "It seems like a lot, but most of that was downloaded in the last couple of minutes and I'm assuming it's mostly video files. Now, we just have to sort through it."

Jean Luc is silent as we scan. "Dear God, Wes," He braces himself with a hand on his son's arm. "These experiments – they've been going on for quite a while."

Wes looks down at the ambivalent little girl in his arms, "We've got a lot of work to do, Kitten."

The doorbell rings and rivets our attention away from the console. Fear grips all of us instantaneously. If anyone knew that we were here, we'd have no chance. We'd be taken into custody and…

**Oh I wonder who it could be... :) Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear from you! -Becca**


	124. Chapter 124

**Sorry to keep everyone in suspense! I fell asleep for an hour after staying up all night with this bad boy :) ! Enjoy and I'll update again really, really soon! Thanks for all your feedback. I read each and everyone and wish that I could respond to each of you individually. I wish I could respond to Guest reviews! Your feedback helps me direct the story so that everyone can enjoy it and have fun! So, keep it coming. Thanks a million and enjoy!**

Jean Luc whispers, "Hope told us not to answer the door… And frankly I'm in agreement!"

The door chime sounds again. "Shouldn't we at least check?" I know better, but I'm desperately curious. I receive a harried look of caution in response to my question. Though I can tell the look in his green-grey eyes isn't exactly confirmatory, it doesn't exactly discourage me either.

The floor boards creek obviously as I tread oh-so- softly to the door. I sincerely hope that this creaking is only audible from inside! Otherwise… It's going to be 4th-grade obvious that we're hiding out in this house like fugitives. And God forbid if Saoirse or Aaron starts to cry…

I know from experience that somewhere around the door is a painfully, eerily, annoyingly loud slab of wood that creaks like the Devil every time anyone steps on it. I just have to avoi- Dammit! Dammit! Goddammit!

The uncanny howl of the floorboard elicits a very familiar, welcoming laugh from the other side of the door. Like I said, I definitely know the owner of that cackle.

"Deanna?" I exclaim louder than I mean to. My eyes nearly jump out of their bony sockets as I open the door and behold and petite brunette standing impatiently with a gaggle of our former crew surrounding her on Hope's too-tiny veranda.

Tears of relief flood my eyes as the cool air hits me in the face and I'm enveloped in the lithe arms of my old friend. "Oh, Deanna!" I breathe in her familiar smell and allow myself to bask in her calm ubeity. I soon disentangle myself, though. "Will Riker!" I barely reach his chin, but I latch onto him and hold him as closely as I can.

The scene in front of me starts to blur through saline droplets. I wipe my eyes before folding Data's heavy, alloy body against my own. He could almost be human, I think; the warmth of his circuitry is almost an exact dupe for body heat.

"Doctor," His voice resonates against me. "We should go inside. It would not be prudent for you to be seen under the current circumstances."

Jean Luc and Wesley move into the foyer. "Will! Deanna!" Jean Luc folds each of them against himself. His grin broadens when he regards Data. "Data," He breathes a sigh of gratitude against Data's plastic rigidity. "Thank you for everything, my old friend."

"You are most welcome, Captain. However," He turns to Wesley whose face wears the biggest smile. "You are still being searched for and it is only a matter of time until the authorities find you here. May I suggest that we get started?"

Wesley grins at his old friend and leads him to the console. "It's great you're here, Data." I hear him say. "Now we'll be able to sort through all of this information in an eighth of the time!"

"Precisely." Data's fingers work at an alarming rate as Wesley directs his actions.

Wesley points to the screen, "This one here. All of these files…"

I turn my attention to the couple opposite us in the foyer. "Will, Deanna," Jean Luc is still as stunned as I am. "You, eh-"

I finish his thought for him. "How were you able to get here?"

Will clasps his wife's hand. "The Titan entered orbit two days ago. We were docking for repairs when we heard the scuttlebutt that you three were wanted for the murder of three prominent officials at the Daystrom Institute. I'm sure you've seen the report?"

Jean Luc shakes his head, "No. We haven't. We haven't been paying attention. We've, eh, just been lying low since we escaped that whole situation."

"Well, the reports are saying that you three are dangerous. The whole thing has been completely sensationalized and it's causing quite a scandal!"

He rolls his eyes, "We're sure. But, you still haven't answered our question – how were you three able to transport here without being detected? More than that, how are you explaining your absence aboard the Titan during repairs to the Admiralty?"

Deanna smiles a cheeky grin. "I think you're forgetting, Jean Luc, the benefits of commanding a starship – we have unlimited and unrestricted use of the transporters."

Jean Luc only laughs in response, "I suppose rank did have its privileges."

"As for explaining to the admiralty," Will smiles. "I told them we were going to Alaska to visit my father, who I explained to them was ill and on Death's doorstep."

My face must have contorted in concern, "No, no. Beverly," Will lays a large hand on my shoulder. "Dad's fine. But we needed a good excuse. After we transported here, we gave Geordi express orders to tweak the transporter logs."

I motion to Hope's living room for the four of us to sit down and briefly discuss what's been happening. "Beverly," Deanna takes my hand and regards my husband and I as we settle on the large couch. "We were all so glad to hear from you and know that you three were safe. We all knew that the media was creating unnecessary hullaballoo. So tell us, how did two ex-Starfleet officials get caught in this mess?"

I pull my hand away from her warm grasp and rub my aching eyes where I feel the beginnings of a migraine. "Deanna," My gaze shifts to Will. "Will," I let out a deep sigh as I condense the lengthy story into a sentence. "They're after Wes... Remember the Traveller?"

Will shakes his head to the negative, "Traveller?"

Deanna interjects, her hand on his arm. "I remember." She looks over at him. "Remember when Wesley was able to manipulate the warp field with his mind under the tutelage of that alien that came aboard? It was a long time ago…"

His blue eyes brighten in recognition. "I remember." But then, once again, he's stupefied. "What's the got to do with anything?"

Jean Luc picks up the story, telling it with alacrity as he gestures with his hands. "The Daystrom Institute wanted Wes to come work for them because they had heard of those abilities."

Will shakes his head again, "How?" He interjects, "Did they gain access to ship's logs?"

"I don't know, Will. Up until you just said it, I hadn't considered that. But, there's something else." He looks at me, silently asking if I'd like to explain what happened with Jack.

I turn back to Will, "Jack. He came back."

The colour drains from both their faces. "Jack? Your dead husband, Jack? Wesley's father, Jack?"

I nod my head, "All of the above."

"Beverly," Deanna's hand reaches out to rest on my leg. "How is that even possible?"

I shrug. "He said he faked his own death. He said that Starfleet was dull and that he's meant for more and the Daystrom Institute allowed him to cultivate certain other abilities that he had…"

Will puts two and two together. "Abilities like Wesley's, you mean?"

"Yes," I sigh with the experience still too fresh in my mind.

"So?" Deanna goads.

"So, it's all been a ploy, Deanna. Jack considered himself to be the next step in Human evolution and he was twistedly certain that Wesley was only an enhancement of himself."

"So…" Will looks back to the study at Wesley and Data excitably working over the information on the console. "How did you end up at the Daystrom Institute?"

I suppose there's no easy, abridged version of this. "We had left for Caldos because my Nana died and we needed to clean up her affairs," I inwardly cringe at my choice of words. "When we came back, Wes was missing. He'd dropped Aaron and Saoirse off with Hope and took off for the Daystrom Institute. He called us from there and we went after him." I let out a deep breath.

Jean Luc continues. "When we got there, we found that Wes had been drugged and they had been experimenting on him. They then similarly conducted the same experiments on Beverly…"

I cut in. "I'm still not sure why. I think Jack just wanted to see me squirm…"

He resumes. "We got out of there, but just barely. We had help from 2 of the former Voyager crew – the EMH and a former Borg called Seven."

Our two friends nod, engrossed in the story. "So, I'm guessing you had to fight your way out?" Will posits with a smirk.

"With a phaser and a bit of dumb luck, we made it out alive and we've been hiding ever since."

Deanna fluffs her hair and pushes wayward strands behind her ear, "Well, that's certainly not how the media is portraying it."

I shake my head and my gaze meets the wooden floor boards. "We've got to expose them! This can't stay hidden. Our family can't go to prison for this. It's completely insane!"

"Mom! Dad!" Wesley runs into the room. "We found them. We found all of them… Ron, the Traveller, me, you, and tons of others." He's only run two paces, but adrenaline and sheer excitement has him out of breathe. "They did it. They recorded everything. It's like they left a breadcrumb trail!" I really have to verse myself in these old Earth idioms…

"Found what?" Will turns back to us.

Jean Luc's demeanor is solemn. "Videos, recordings of the torture and the murder that the officials at the Daystrom Institute allowed to happen to confirm their theories…"

Will counters with a hint of mischief and an overriding sense of motivation, "Well," he smiles knowingly. "What are we going to do about it?"


	125. Chapter 125

"Well," I turn to Will. "We're going to need some way of disseminating the data on a large scale."

Data joins an enthusiastic Wesley and the rest of us in the living room. "I have often noticed," He begins a typical-Data pontification. "In my observations of human culture that the 'media' plays a large role. Would it be not be judicious to expose this information to them? Most assuredly, that would be the best way to reach a large population of individuals."

Wesley contemplates. "That's a good idea, Data. And, we talked about it," he motions between the three of us. "But we'd have to find a reporter and a news agency that is going to be impartial…"

Data looks puzzled. "I thought that the purpose of the 'news' was to report factual information for public consumption?"

Will laughs, "No Data. You would think that would be the case, but the media is a highly whimsical creature."

Will's choice of analogy further stumps the Android. "Whimsical Creature, Captain?"

Jean Luc laughs at Data's guilelessness. "What he meant to say, Data, is that often news agencies are politically run or influenced."

I nod. "With that in mind, leaking the information to FedNews would certainly not be the wisest course of action."

"Certainly not," Deanna agrees.

Wesley's silent, but when I look at him, I can tell his brilliance is churning. "What about," he starts to pace. "Leaking the story, the list, and the video footage to NBT, our local news station?"

Will's confused. "Wesley, leaking the information to a local station isn't going to get you the kind of coverage you need. We need to be thinking about serious news agencies." He hangs his head in thought. "We obviously can't use FedNews – you're right they're too politically involved and-"

"And," Data adds. "Excuse me, Captain, but number of their news anchors were on the…" He looks with puzzlement to his right.

Wesley laughs and finishes his statement. "Little black book".

"Of course!" I throw my hands in the air and roll my eyes. Not a moment later, Aaron's cry rings through the room. "I'll be right back."

"No, no," I hear Wes assert over the cry of the baby. "Listen, there's a reason we need to leak this story locally first."

I reenter the room to see everyone looking at him expectantly. "Listen, this story is huge. For all intents and purposes," he gesticulates. "This might be one of the biggest stories of the century. It's got everything that makes a story sensational: intrigue, conspiracy, murder, corruption… you name it, we've got it!" He calms himself. "No one is going to believe this story if we just show up at the headquarters of FedNews, for instance, or GTN, or even GNN for that matter. But local stations," He gestures out the window. "Are always looking for a good story. Often, I've noticed, without regard to their origin. And, like I said, this one is huge. Also, there's a lot of incentive to go public with it. The reporter that breaks this story is going to be famous."

Silence in the room settles and even Aaron quites. Saoirse entertains herself against Jean Luc's chest, but she too is mute for the time being.

"So," Data begins. "You are appealing to the avarice of the reporter?"

Wes shakes his head. "Avarice no. Ambition, yes." He sighs and then continues his explanation. "When this hits the local news, it's going to spread rapidly. Bigger national and international news stations are going to want to get their hands on these lists and footage which we can later provide – anonymously of course for the time being."

Jean Luc nods his head. "Alright, so who are we going to give the information to?"

A lightbulb goes on in my head. "My patient," I tug at Jean Luc's arm in an effort to jog not only his memory but my own. "Remember I came home 5 months ago and I Was so excited that I had met a local 'celebrity'?" I smile and look up, remembering her name. "Jill Waterton, the 5 O'clock news anchor, brought her daughter into the practice for a well-baby appointment." I try not to let the giddiness get the best of my voice. "I have her contact details on the console – or I think Hope does at least."

"Alright," Will gesticulates. "But you're not going to call her up and just give her the information are you? I mean that's probably not the best strategy at the moment when you're wanted for murder…"

Wesley laughs, "That wouldn't be a good idea. No," he looks at Will knowingly. "You're going to do it."

"Me?" He points to himself in shock.

Deanna leans into him, "Famous Captain of the Titan, former first officer of the Enterprise, dashing, handsome, tall, debonair… Need I go on?"

Will smiles smugly and shrugs, "You can if you want. You don't hear any complaints from me!"

We all laugh as Deanna swats him playfully against the chest. "Oh you!"

Jean Luc nods, "She's right, Will. She'll be more inclined to listen to you with the clout that you now hold as a Starfleet captain."

"Alright," he willingly concedes. "But first we going to have to decide exactly what we're going to give her and what to tell her about how it needs to be presented."

Wesley tugs at Data's shoulder, signaling him back into the study. "Let's get started."

**So, the saga continues. Will Jill Waterton be receptive to their story? Will it get picked up by the news? Are the Picards out of the water yet? What's really on that video footage? Stay tuned! **


	126. Chapter 126

"Please, Jack," Ron moans. "Please, I don't know anything."

Jack turns the corner, his outline silhouetted in black. "Ron, Ron, Ron," he tisks. "What did I say about begging?"

"I don't know anything, Jack," he repeats, tears streaming down his face. He's struggling against the restraints, and a small pool of blood collects under his bound hands behind him. A familiar bag hangs before him from a crude apparatus attached to the low-hanging ceiling.

"Ron, that's not the issue here." Jack sits across from him and feigns pity as he lays his hand on Ron's shaking leg. "Relax, Ron. You know it only gets worse if you struggle."

He readjusts himself in the chair. "You know, Ron, this issue here isn't that you don't know anything. I know you don't, we know that Wesley hasn't been manipulating anti matter in your lab." He rolls his eyes. "I would even hasten to say that your work is a little humdrum… hmm? A little boring... " He smiles, "But that's not the issue here." He leaves his seat and begins to pace. "The issue is that you didn't do what we asked which was to deliver him to us willingly…"

"B-but that's not my fault. He was happy to stay at UW! I couldn't force him!" Ron's eyes are bloodshot and his tears are a trigger for all of our own.

"And whose fault is that, _Ronnie_?" Jack moves close to him again and moves his finger painfully over the site of catheterization drawing a wince. "It hurts, doesn't it, Ron?"

The older man weeps, "Please Jack. Just let me go. I promise I'll get him here. Just let me go home to my girls!"

Jack moves to make an adjustment on the line leading into Ron's arm. With a tweak of the line, "You're divorced, aren't you Ronnie?"

The older man nods his head.

"Well, I'll bet your girls won't even miss you. In a few moments, all you'll be is a distant memory to them." Jack leans down and kisses Ron's cheek, "I've always said, Ronnie, that if you play with fire – you get burned. It was nice working with you."

Abruptly the visual cuts into static. I hold Wesley close to me as I try to wipe the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Ugh," he moves away from me as he tries to regain some semblance of a detached, focused countenance. He turns back to Will, "This one has to enclosed. They murdered an innocent man and if this isn't evidence enough, then I don't know what is."

Will moves closer, "Wes, about that 'black book'; it's useless unless we have direct, documented communication between those individuals and the Daystrom Institute."

Wesley nods and wipes away his last tears, "I know." His head falls into his hands. "The problem is that we don't know _who_ the Daystrom Institute is!" I can tell from his voice that he's agitated. We all are. Having had to sit through these recordings of torture and death of innocent people for the last two hours has frayed all of us. Things that we couldn't imagine happening within the Federation, unspeakable evils and horrors too grotesque to be imagined had been committed and most of them, sadly, were at the hands of Jack Crusher.

He was obsessed, maniacal. Every individual he heard of having close to any type of super-human abilities, he'd entice, woo, and then turn on. None of them made it out alive. Once he performed the test and found them lacking in the spark he was looking for, he'd kill them. And he did it the same way each time – with the Klingon drug of Death.

Hours and hours of footage are devoted to people's last moments. These glimpses are full of pain, indescribably suffering, crying… It's too much and we've only seen two; the Traveller's the Ron Gerhardt's.

The Traveller's video was of particular interest. Jack, though, hadn't seemed to find what he wanted. The shots taken of him drugged in the dark room are remarkable. What to me looked like blasé charts and schematics, to him seemed rational, ordered even. Even under the influence of the hypnotic, the readouts on the console took on a specific life without him having to make any somatic contact with the computer whatsoever. "That…" Wesley had said. "That is what I remember being able to do." After a moment, he sat back. "Sometimes, I still remember doing it. But, there's no need for it anymore…" He meant there's no need for it in his line of work. But, the hidden meaning is that he no longer wants to pursue it. Not after this.

Traveler, that sweet, taciturn man met the same end as Ron Gerhardt. But, he did so quietly. There was no begging in the face of Jack's relentless taunting. There was just silence and peace. And when the Pur'pard had finished, he passed serenely and gracefully from this life and into the other. But, an itching feeling tells me that his passing was not complete.

Will's voice rouses me from my sadness, "So, what am I bringing to the reporter?"

I turn around, "Were you able to get ahold of her?"

He holds up the comm. "I spoke with her a few moments ago. She said she'd be very happy to meet with me at 1600 hours."

Wesley turns around, wide-eyed. "So soon? Will, that's in an hour!"

"Wesley, the authorities are going to figure out sooner or later that you're here and we don't have that much time."

Data nods, "He is right, Wesley. Logically, there are not many places where you could hide. Sooner or later, they are going to come back."

"So, besides the footage, what else am I giving her?"

Wesley turns back to the console, his despair settling in. "Like you said, Will, we can't find anything directly linking the Daystrom Institute with any of the people in Jack's black book. There's no paper trail. There's nothing." His shoulders slump. "And though I'm sure these videos are enough to rouse suspicion, they're going to do nothing to exonerate us of the charge of murder in three counts…"

Deanna concedes. "You could claim self-defense…"

Wesley throws his hands up in defeat. "We're going to claim that anyways!"

"Wes," Jean Luc draws Wesley close to him. "Calm down, it's alright…"

Wes sits up abruptly, "It's not alright! Who could these people be? Why is this such a mystery? Why would Jack have recorded all those names? None of this is making sense!" His questions pour forth as his pacing around the small, crowded room grows more erratic until he comes to a halt. "Unless…" He looks up at the rest of us. "Unless that black book is the Daystrom Institute."

The front door opens abruptly with a slam. "Beverly!" Hope runs in out of breath and her hair a mess around her head. "They're coming, Beverly! They're coming!"

A cannon ball hits me in the stomach and the blood drains from my face. "Who is coming, Hope?"

"You were spotted." She looks over my shoulder at Jean Luc. "Someone spotted you and reported you. I was just on my way to the school to get the boys and I heard the news." Tears spring forth from her eyes. I turn to my husband and our friends. "What do we do?"

In a moment of utter calm, as eerie sirens and flashing alternations of red and blue dance lugubriously across the walls, my husband wraps his arm around my waist and tenderly kisses my forehead. "We trust our friends. We trust that they'll do the best they can." He sighs and keeps his eyes trained on mine. "We trust that Justice will out."

Data asserts himself. "Captain Riker will do everything he can. As will I and Commander Troi."

Deanna's eyes are tear-filled, "We will. We'll get you out of this. All three of you and you'll be home before you know it."

Footsteps draw nearer, "Thank you." I whisper.

The words spoken by the men who have come to take us don't register as I feel my hands bound. I look back to the study where Saoirse and Aaron are asleep in their playpen. I'm numb so tears don't come.

Hope and trust that justice will out and that by some miracle, Will, Deanna, and Data will come through.


	127. Chapter 127

**Ach Linds! Am I that predictable? :) **

I must say, being in prison is a new experience and one that I never thought that I'd add to my patina of interesting life occurrences. But, I laugh, interesting life occurrences are something that I seem to be wracking up these days…

I haven't spoken with a soul in about a day. Because I'm allegedly a convicted murderer, I've been relegated to solitary confinement. I'm not complaining, though. I'd rather be on my own than having to fend for my own safety amid a hub of actual convicts.

The hours peel past as I stare listlessly at the white walls and I can't keep my thoughts off my husband. I can't stop seeing his face, calm in the moments before our apprehension. My forehead remains indented with that one final kiss. Like a lovesick teenager, I won't even touch the spot; I'm somehow afraid that I'll wipe away his essence.

But, my thoughts are not only consumed with Jean Luc. No. When I dream, I dream of Jack. I see his sharp features, his angled jaw; I feel his anger and his seething, malicious hatred. Uselessly, I try to remember back 20 some odd years ago. Were there warning signs? Could I have known who he truly was? Could Jean Luc? From Jack, my mind strays to my handsome son and I can't even begin to imagine what he's feeling. I'm brought back to the way he pushed me aside in disgust not too long ago. Sitting here, I'm afraid he'll somehow hate me for all of this one day... Thoughts of Wesley flow naturally to Saoirse and Aaron. They're safe, I console myself. I know that whatever happens, Hope and Gregg will take care of them and they'll be loved.

I pull my legs into my chest and lay my head on my bony knees and think again of Wes and Jean Luc. I'm grateful that Wesley has had Jean Luc to be his father. A smile quirks on my face: "He calls him 'dad' now…"

Lost in my pleasant daydream I don't hear the grind of metal on metal. It's almost comical that in modern Earth Prisons, they've forgone the hydraulic door or enforced force fields. No, here they've left us with good, old-fashioned heavy alloy. I suppose they think it adds to the penal milieu…

The thick door to my cell slams open and a heavyset female guard harkens me. "Picard, Beverly. You're being released."

I look up, not registering what she just said. "What?" I repeat, in case my ears are playing tricks on me.

"Get up! let's go," The guard barks.

"Why?" I repeat, hopeful.

She looks at me directly and rolls her eyes. "Your husband confessed. Said it was pre-meditated..."

My blood freezes in my veins. "What?" My legs won't move and dread and anguish overtake me.

The guard ushers me out again, this time taking my arm and making sure that I actually leave the cell. "And, uh," she sounds behind me in her gruff voice. "Someone's waiting for you."


	128. Chapter 128

"This way," An imposing Bolian, towering high above me, opens the last barrier separating freedom and me. Instead of this being a happy moment filled with elation and relief, I'm weighed down with leaden masses craftily constructed of dread and anxiety. I can't stop thinking about Jean Luc. Why would he confess to anything? The guard had said premeditated. It wasn't! What's really going on?

The light of the prison lobby opens to me and I suddenly remember something else the guard said; someone is waiting for me. I crane my neck, looking amid the busyness, trying to suss out any clue as to who it could be.

I see a familiar tall form in the midst of the crowd. "Wes!" He turns around. "Oh my God, Wesley!" I run to him with my last bit of strength and crush him against me. My resolve crumbles and I cry body-wrenching convulsive sobs. "Oh Wes," I mumble through the tears. "Why? Why?" I repeat over and over. "Why did he do it?" He says nothing; his only response is to hold me while I try in vain to glean any sort of comfort or solace. But the truth, however harsh, is that while I'm overjoyed to see my son, I feel incomplete without my husband. In the midst of my lament, however, I fail to realize the bigger picture; he's not alone.

"Mom," he takes my shoulders and gently pushes me back. "Mom," he beckons again, more emphatically this time.

I wipe my eyes. "I'm fine, Wes." I suck in air and breathe as deeply as I can, "I'm fine…" I can tell he wants to tell me something amid his concern. "I'm fine." I say one last time as if I'm trying to convince myself of it. "What is it, Wesley?"

He takes my arm and angles my body. "Mom, this…" a woman standing next to him looks up furtively from the floor. He holds out his hand in quiet presentation, "is Leah Brahms..."

I've only seen Leah Brahms once. She came aboard the Enterprise about three years ago. I don't remember formally meeting her, but I think I passed her in the corridor. And of course, none of us could forget the incidents between her and Geordi. Her big brown eyes expressively sweep the busy room and she moves closer to us. "Could we go somewhere else and talk?"

I, too scan the room, following her lead around. My eyes dart from the hodgepodge of people and species all here for a specific purpose, all around the windows ushering in the morning light, and up at the ceiling. What is she looking for?

"Uh," I brush my dirty, matted hair away from my face. "Of course, Leah. Wherever you'd like..." At this point, I'm intrigued and my curiosity, even if only for a moment, takes over my higher sense of grief and apprehension.

She keeps her hazel gaze downcast. "Somewhere," she takes my arm and again sweeps her nervous gaze, "without people..."

Again following her lead, I take one more look around the room, scanning confusedly for anyone or anything that might be watching us. I feel Wesley's hand on my arm leading me out the large, grey, imposing doors into the bright, white sunlight. The air is surprisingly cold and for a moment it stuns my lungs with its sharpness. Redolent of the beginning of summer, however, I let my mind take a momentary sojourn back home. I see Saoirse run aimlessly around the backyard while I garden and Jean Luc cuts the grass with the most ridiculous looking apparatus. I stifle a fleeting smile when I remember asking him about it. I suggested he just purchase an automatized lawn cutter and save himself the time. But he was so traditionally adamant about using the foolish antique contraption that he called a lawn-

"Leah," Wesley stops walking, breaking my idle musings, and looks back to the prison, mentally gauging our distance.

Her scrutiny follows his before she turns back to us. "I'm, uh, I'm so sorry Dr. Cr… Eh… Dr. Picard for everything that's happened." She shifts her weight on her feet before continuing, wasting no time. "You're in over your heads. The Daystrom Institute, they control everything."

I know we're in over our heads. But what I want to know is, "Who are they, Leah?"

Her hand snakes up to her neck, vainly massaging away the tension. "They're everyone. They control everything: Starfleet, the government, the media, the Academy… they plant people, and…" She grapples, looking up at the bright sky as she tries to come to terms with her thoughts.

"Wesley," I turn to my son with a gesture. "What about that list of names?"

He nods. "I was right; they are the Daystrom Institute."

"I don't understand, Leah," My eyes run back to her. "I had always thought the Daystrom Institute was an educational and research facility. That's after all why you came on the Enterprise all those years ago to help Geordi… Isn't it? To further your research?"

"Yes," she eagerly volunteers. "And you're right. It is an education facility. We do research there on everything: propulsion, temporal dynamics, interspecies biology, other things… And for the longest time, I thought that was all that went on there."

There's a pause and she lays out her hands as if in offering. "But over time I started to notice things..." Another deep, cleansing breath, "At first, I thought nothing of it, but there is no one listed as running the Daystrom Institute – not really. There are supervisors, though, that enforce rules and regulations… The building shuts down every day at 1700 hours and if you're caught there after that time, you're put on report. Most of the building is off-limits, shut away, and tightly locked with codes… There are other things, but I don't have time to get into them. But, uh…"

She looks down at the gravel and begins anew. "One night I was getting ready to leave when I saw dozens of very renown Starfleet admirals, politicians, entertainers, people in every position of power, enter the building. I was amazed and a little awestruck. So, I did something a little foolish…" She chortles and rubs her face as if in embarrassment. "I hid and stayed."

"And?" I goad impatiently.

She takes another breath. "And… I was shocked! They discussed everything; they orchestrated everything. They fastidiously planned Starfleet missions, for instance. Nothing you experienced aboard the Enterprise was spontaneous. All of your missions were scripted, so to speak; No stone was left unturned; no shred of detail was omitted. And they chose people... politicians, news anchors, journalists... Everyone you could think of!"

"But?" Wesley goads her knowingly.

She looks up, straight at me. "But they also planned assassinations, murders, exiles…"

I shake my head. "Leah, that's all fine. But, we don't have any proof. And if we go to the media or the authorities with any of this, it's solely your word against theirs… and," I point around us. "Their word has a lot more pull..."

A smile spreads over her face, "That's why I recorded everything." She pulls out a data microchip. "And over the next few months, curiosity got the better of me and I secretly stayed later and listened in on all of their meetings…"

"And no one ever caught you?" I'm astounded.

"No." She smiles deviously. "And, uh," she rummages in her bag. "You're going to need this," she produces another neon chip and hands it to Wesley. "It's communications, correspondences…"

"Ho-?"

With her devious grin still plastered, she holds up her hand to respond. "I had to know what was really going on. So, I planted a virus in the main computer. It was made to look like an unfortunate, but natural fallout of the program that I was designing. My supervisor was angry; he told me that whatever I had done, to fix it right away…" A breeze rustles through trees in front of us. Leah reaches up and brushes an errant strand of chestnut hair away from her face and mouth. "So, I used the opportunity to access restricted files all in the name of 'de-bugging'…"

"Files that even Data and I weren't able to access…" Wesley chimes excitedly.

"No one thought anything of it; I've been nothing but loyal to the Institute since I was a student. But," She chortles, "I found a 'papertrail': communications between Nechayev, Hayes, Nakamura, President Lewiston, and dozens of others. The files were highly classified and gave orders detailing assassinations, wars, negotiations, and conspiracies. I think you might remember the latest incident with the Romulans…? So," she pushes the chip into Wesley's hand. "This, is your salvation, Wesley… combine this with the information you told me that you already have and who knows – you just might be behind one of the biggest exposures in history."

"Thank you, Leah," I take her small hand in mine and then turn back to Wesley. "But," I'm still confused as to another matter that's cumbersomely weighing me down. "Why did Jean Luc confess to premeditated murder of Savet, Vera, and Jack?"

Wesley looks at me purposefully and seriously, reflecting what I already know to be true. "I think you know why, Mom..."

I do. He did it for love. I nod my head, stifling tears that will do no good.

"Leah," Wesley looks away from me, formulating a plan, and his grin suddenly returns. "Can we use your car?"

"Sure! It's the blue hovercar," she points close to our position. "There. But, you have to hurry with whatever you've got planned…. The media says that your husband's sentencing hearing is scheduled for later this afternoon. They're expediting the proceedings… And word is that authorities consider a Cardassian penal colony too lenient…"

I grab Wes' hand as panic and adrenaline bombard me like a meteorite. I feel the colour drain from my face and a cold sweat breaks on my brow and palms. Whatever Wes has got planned has to work. If they consider a penal colony too lenient, then the next logical step is the death penalty.


	129. Chapter 129

"What do you have in mind, Wes?" Leah looks over as she guides the vehicle smoothly out of the car park.

Wesley is ambivalent to her question. "Leah, do you have a padd that can read these microchips?"

"Uh," I see her eyes scan the front seat. "Beverly," she glances in the rear-view mirror. "Can you get the padd in my bag?"

I rummage through the capacious bag sitting next to me. "What are you doing, Wes?"

He looks up with a distinct twinkle in his eye. "I was thinking," He smiles back at me. "Remember that time on the Enterprise where I became completely intoxicated on that strange polywater?"

Yes, I smile. I remember how Wesley went absolutely wild and took control of Engineering. He was so young back then, completely little and unimposing. But, I laugh, he had Jean Luc in such a tail-spin when he took over the comm of the ship and appointed himself Captain. "Yes, Wesley… How could I forget? Jean Luc never let me live that one down…"

"Well," he too chuckles at our shared memory. "I was thinking. What if I did the same thing to the television broadcasting towers?"

"Huh?" I have no idea where he's going with this.

"Well, if everything that Leah's saying is true and the Daystrom Institute elite, you could say, really do have control over all the media outlets…" He pauses with a small bit of uncertainty as he thinks through the ramifications of his plan.

I lean forward in the seat, "Go on, Wes." I encourage.

"Well," he fumbles, grappling with the specifics of what he's trying to lay out. "Even if Will had been able to speak with that anchor, it's not going to do much good. You were right: it's our word against theirs and without this," He holds up the clear chip, "our story won't hold water."

There's more. "Right… but?"

He turns in the seat and looks at me, "Mom, Dad…" He blushes, "Jean Luc… doesn't have much time and there's no way that we're going to convince anyone at a big news outlet to disseminate the information on time. So…" he smiles dubiously.

I think I know where he's going. Leah contemplatively looks over at Wesley, finishing off the rest of his postulation. "So, what you're saying is that you're going to essentially hijack television towers and manually override the existing signal with one of your own."

"Yes!" he nods vigorously. "That's exactly it!"

Leah puts a staid hand on his arm. "But your plan is flawed, Wes. You're never going to be able to generate that type of signal with a regular console."

"No," He smiles knowingly. "But I know where I can get one that'll do the job!"

"Will," I grin. "The Titan." I think for a moment, "Wesley, you're going to use the Titan's array to generate that type of signal aren't you?"

"Exactly." He looks to Leah. "Leah, do you have a communicator with you? We need to contact either Will, Data, or Deanna."

"Beverly?" She angles her body again to regard me in the rear view mirror. "Would you?"

I again rummage in the purse to produce the small device. "Wesley," Leah starts. "I don't have privileged communication on that device."

Wesley manipulates the keystrokes with a practiced agility, "It doesn't matter. I've learned that all you need to do to access the Starfleet comm. is manually override the existing programming with a simple empirical algorithm."

She shakes her head in disbelief, "How did you figure that out?"

He winks back, "Another time." He's silent for another moment while he refocuses his attention on the comm. "Alright, now we just wait for Will to respond."

"Wesley, what do you plan on broadcasting?"

He shakes his head and fiddles with the padd. "I don't know." He quickly locates the chip-port in the device and scans the page. "Obviously, we have to make it short." He continues to speak while he gesticulates with his free hand. "We have to quickly run through the litany of grievances, expose the conspiracy and the admiralty and then we have to make a plea for Jean Luc." He sits back and stares out the window. "It's obvious that the prosecutor in the case is going to be planted. But, I'm banking on his defense attorney. Whatever happens, Mom," He turns and looks back. "They're going to have to give him some semblance of a fair trial to at least keep up appearances in the public eye. What I'm counting on is that even though I know that the prosecutor is planted, his defense might not be, nor will the judge."

"So?"

"So," he continues purposefully. "If we get this information out well before the hearing, someone will smell a rat, and I'm praying that the case will be dismissed. Afterall, this case is extremely high profile." He lowers his voice an octave and accents it with a theatrical tone. "Famous Starfleet captain turned family man pleads guilty on three counts of premeditated manslaughter."

"Right," I let myself fall back against the seat and again rub away the echoes of an oncoming migraine. "Because with the evidence in clear view, it's obvious that this is a set up… And enough people will be watching so at least we have a chance…" I hope.

He lets out a sigh, "let's just pray…"

A faint buzz against Wes' leg jolts me up again. "Is that Will?"

He again nods his head and his smile reaches both ears. "Leah," he keeps typing. "What are our current coordinates?"

"Is he going to transport you?" She looks over at him.

He nods. "You better pull the car over; you're coming too."

At the next turn, Leah brings the car to an abrupt halt and looks at the car's navigational array. "Latitude: 42.4076, Longitude: -104.334."

Gathering the padd and the two chips, Wesley gives me one final wink as the three of us materialize into blue.


	130. Chapter 130

**Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! Love that you are all involved with me in the story! Makes it fun :). **

"Wes, Beverly, thank goodness," Will sighs in relief as he greets us in the Transporter Room.

I breathe in in the familiar recycled air of the Starship, "Good to see you too, Will," I look past him with a smile, "Deanna, Data."

"Beverly!" She hugs me so close that I struggle to breathe. "We were so worried." She pulls back and looks me up and down. "Are you alright?"

I smile wearily, "Fine, Deanna. But," I look at Wes, "We'd better get started."

"Will," Wesley gestures to Leah on his right, "I'm sure you remember Leah Brahms. She came aboard the Enterprise a few years back."

With a warm Riker smile, "It's good to see you again Dr. Brahms," he extends his hand in greeting. "Welcome to the Titan."

"Thank you, Captain Riker. But uh," She looks back to Wesley. "We only have 45 minutes to do this. "

Pallor and anxiety hit all of us with a similar celerity, me in particular. "What did you find, Wes?" Will gestures to the set of hydraulic doors as we pass through them at a quickened pace.

Wesley holds the padd and 2 different coloured microchips up, "Paper trails. What happened to your meeting?"

Will shrugs, "It was as we all suspected. She said she'd look over it, though. She took the copies." He rubs his face as we round the corner to Engineering. "If you found paper trails, she can still report the story, but with a lot more evidence."

A familiar face waits for us at the haudralic doors as they open into a console-filled room. "Wesley!" Geordi quickly embraces his old friend. "It's good to see you."

Wesley, though, quickly disengages himself. "Fine Geordi. Good to see you." He looks over his shoulder. "We need to get started."

"What did you have in mind, Wesley?"

Leah Brahms asserts herself as she extends her hand, "Hello, Geordi. Good to see you again."

Deanna and I look at each other knowingly. Poor Geordi. "It's good to see you too Leah." This time, however, he doesn't have time to wallow in self-pity. Thank goodness…

Wesley quickly refocuses the group. "We need to create a modulating high frequency band disturbance." He hands Geordi the two microchips. "What I want to do is use the Titan's communications array to effectively create an entirely new signal that we can superimpose over existing television waves and essentially obliterate them while leaving our new signal intact."

Geordi types purposefully on the console while Wesley stipulates his plan. "So then what we need to do is boost power to the commutations array and reboot the programming to project a stronger signal. Right now it's operating at minimum strength because we're in orbit. How do you want to create the modulating frequency, Wes?"

"What about using the Botzman algorithm?" Leah intones, moving next to Geordi as she inputs her own set of data.

"Isn't the Botzman a little bit of overkill?" Geordi is stumped. "I was thinking about the Lewis Theorem."

Wes shakes his head. "No, no neither of those..." He's hangs his shoulders in quick contemplation. "I have an idea," his head shoots up and he takes over Geordi's console. "What we need to do is reformat the signal altogether. Remember, we're not projecting across space. This is a different spectrum altogether; We're dealing in television waves, which are ultra high frequency decimeter bands." He looks at Leah and Geordi, "Botzman and Lewis aren't going to work. What we need to do is…"

I seem to fade into the wall as I watch the three of them work. Indescribable amounts of pride and admiration swell as I watch my son exert his natural brilliance. "Beverly," I feel Deanna's hand on my arm.

I look down at her, "Yes?"

She takes my hand in hers and leads me away to the corridor. "Are you alright?"

Thoughts of Jean Luc and what he's done for our family surface in the kindness of Deanna's presence. In all the hullaballoo, the gravity of what he's done for us hasn't sunk in. My eyes burn as I look at my dear friend. "I'm worried, Deanna." My voice is shaky and lends itself to cracking at every syllable.

"I know," she hugs me. "I know. But," she looks up. "Wesley will come through." She turns in the direction of the door we just passed through. "I don't know how, with four geniuses working on this project, they're not going to succeed."

I nod my head, stifling tears and overweening feelings of immersing desperation. "I know. But…"

"Shh." She holds up her hand with a smile to silence me. "We're not even going to think about the alternative. Is that understood?"

I bow my head with a laugh and mock salute, "Understood, Commander."


	131. Chapter 131

"Mom!" Wesley bounds through the hydraulic doors. "We did it! We transmitted the signal!"

The air rushes out of my lungs. "Did it work?"

A huge smile indicates the affirmative, "Yes." He looks back, "Data compiled the evidence while Geordi, Leah and I sent the signal. Every console and padd in this sector should be broadcasting as we speak."

Breath hasn't returned as I stare aimlessly at the carpeted floor. "So now we wait…"

"Yes," a warm, familiar embrace encourages. "Da-Jean Luc will be alright. Now that people know the truth, they're not going to convict him. It's going to be obvious that it was self defense and hopefully the charges will be dropped."

I nod against his shoulder. "You know, Wes. It's okay if you call him Dad. You don't have to call him Jean Luc."

"You don't think he minds?" He muffles against my hair.

With a laugh I shake my head, "He's honored." I take another breath, "His face lights up when you say it."

/

You would think I'd be used to it by now. The waiting, I mean. But no matter how many times I'm forced to wait, it never gets easier… this time especially. We should have heard by now. Something. We should have heard at least _something_!

Knowing that Jean Luc is in the next room facing a judge and being harassed and barraged by lawyers does nothing to calm me. We haven't even been allowed to see him. As soon as the signal was sent from the Titan, the lot of us arrived at the courthouse and fought the press to get inside. By the time we showed up, he was already embroiled in the proceedings. No one is allowed to bear witness at this sham of a trial. So here we are, waiting, agonizing, dwelling, and hopelessly churning up worst-case scenario after worst-case scenario.

"Mom!" Wesley gets up to join me "Stop pacing. It's going to be fine."

Anxiety has become akin to a blood antigen made naturally by my body. And I can't get rid of it no matter how hard I try to calm myself. My hand nervously rubs my forehead, reddening and irritating the skin. "We should have heard by now. Anything. Something, Wes; we should have heard something. It's been an hour!"

Two hands insinuate themselves firmly on my shoulder. "Mom!" He again halts my gait and forces me to look at him. "It's going to b-"

The hydraulic doors to the holding chamber open and again my pulse speeds up as the court aid arrives breathless. My hands are shaking as I regard the skinny young boy. "What is it?"

A massive, goofy grin spreads and lights up his whole face. "They've dropped the charges. He's being released!"

Relief floods my body so much so that my legs fail to support me. Wesley catches me, though, as I regain my footing. Huge tears of relief build behind my eyes and soon a deluge has been released. "Oh thank goodness!" I sob through saline and overwhelming elation.

"Thank you," I look at Data, Geordi, Leah, Will and Deanna through bleary eyes as I hold onto my son. "I don't ever think I can repay any of you for this."

"Nonsense, Beverly," Deanna hugs me close. "Now, Carrot Top" she laughs and fusses with my too-long hair, a serene smile gracing her face. "Go get your husband."

**:) Lads, that was quite a ride. I don't know if my adrenal glands can handle any more of this! **


	132. Chapter 132

**Thanks for reading and reviewing everybody! Here it is; I hope you like it! Enjoy. -Becca**

The air in the corridor is stifling, redolent with the distinct odor of too many in a confined area. Body against body, the sheer closeness of everyone gathered, waiting for a glimpse of Jean Luc, creates a sea of flesh that I'm struggling to navigate. A hand leads me, anchors me, though, as Wesley charts a course for the courtroom.

What should be a two-minute walk is slowly drawn into what seems like hours. I'm getting frustrated and feeling compressed by hundreds of eager, chatting forms is only heightening the tickling inundation of butterflies in my stomach and that familiar anxiety already coursing through my veins and arteries.

Before I see the open door, I feel the new source of air on my face and in seconds I'm pulled through into quiet stillness as the doors shut behind me. Momentarily, the juxtaposition of noise and quiet, heat and cool, leaves me bewildered. I scan through the stark dimness, looking, searching…

"Mrs. Picard?" Why isn't he here?

"Um," I'm suddenly confused. "Yes?"

An imposing, dark Vulcan rises from the seat at the head of the courtroom. Shrouded in the darkness of his robes, he initially blends into the duskiness of the cavernous chamber.

"Where is my husband?" Wesley grabs my hand a little tighter when he perceives the desperation insinuating itself in my voice.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Picard, we had to move him. Obviously," he motions to the corridor. "There are many who are not satisfied with the ver-"

"Where is he?" It's not a question; it's a demand. I've already spent the last few hours squirming and torturing myself. The knowledge that he's been acquitted isn't nearly enough to calm me. The itch in my arms is persistent and tells me to make specific, discernable confirmation; like a typical scientist, I need palpable physical evidence of his safety before any true peace can be had.

One long arm motions gracefully to the door at the head of the room, "Please." Typically Vulcan and lissome, his steps before us are soft and calculated.

Wesley picks up his pace to come alongside our guide, "Excuse me, but, uh, what happened?"

The Vulcan looks down and states plainly, without emotion, as he enters the code to the door. "The Judge dismissed the case based on the evidence."

"So that's it?" Wesley's right: it does sound too good to be true even if it's what we were all anticipating.

"Precisely." He seems almost annoyed. "It was obvious, even before the trial began, that he was innocent."

But Wesley is true to his nature: precocious and needing the full picture before allowing himself any emotional entanglement. "Has the court made a decision yet on how to prosecute the Daystrom Institute?" His voice grows firmer, "Are the people who are responsible for all of this going to be brought to justice?"

"Mister Crusher," The mention of the name brings a noticeable shudder that courses through Wesley's entire form.

The Vulcan halts his steps with a twinge of typical Vulcan passive aggressive panache, "I am sorry that I do not have any further answers for you. It was not two hours ago that the evidence was revealed and not fifteen minutes ago that the verdict was made. I simply do not have responses to your queries at this time."

"But," he looks away with a sigh. "I am sure that the persons who are responsible for all of these terrible evils will be brought to justice, regardless of their rank or notoriety."

Wesley seems satisfied as he smiles and holds up his hands, "That's all I wanted to know."

If Vulcans could roll their eyes, this one would. "Please," he motions again. "Follow me."

Wesley resumes his tight grip on my hand. His palms are sweating against mine, an ode to his excitement and, more likely, to his relief. As we traverse the long, sonorous corridor behind the courtroom, our collective anticipation builds and builds; I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin and my legs can't seem to keep up with my commands.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the highly reflective goromite lining the austere walls of the building. Oh God, I think to myself, I look awful! And on that note: so does Wesley. Fresh bruise-like circles line my under eyes, making me look older and tired. My hair looks greasy and like it hasn't been brushed in days as fly-aways stick out every which way. My face looks too thin, gaunt, and pale, starkly accenting my already-prominent cheekbones. The jeans I'm wearing seem to hang off of me, erasing any hint of feminine curvaceousness. I really hope Jean Lu-

"Here," The Vulcan's steps come to an abrupt halt, leaving the force of inertia to topple me into Wesley's shoulders.

This new room is similarly dim; no windows line the walls or the ceiling. More poorly illuminated sconces try their best to give some semblance of light into this dreary chasmal chamber.

"Beverly? Wes?" His rumbling, distinct baritone is broken, tired, but hopeful and laced with unimaginable relief.

Out of the shadows, there he is.

Within a fraction of a second, the air leaves me, "Jean Luc!"

In two paces I'm crushed against him, shaking in utter relief. "Oh, Jean Luc!" I hold him tighter than I ever have, crushing the wind out of his lungs as I fit my face snugly against the skin of his neck. My own tears of joy pour forth, stream down his chest, and adorn him as if he's being baptised.

"Beverly," He says my name over and over again like an invocation, his own tears embellishing my hair. "Beverly. I was so worried."

I laugh at the ridiculousness of his admission and step back, still remaining in the safety of his embrace. "You were worried?!" My hand moves up to swat his chest, "Who's the one who admitted the three counts of murder and almost ended up with the death penalty?"

"Well…" He smiles abashedly, belaying the underlying gravity of what could have very well happened.

I snake my other hand up over his warm, solidly muscled chest, up to his visage, and allow it to linger over the smooth lines of his face. I admire every crease and every angle, as I again memorise the fine architecture of the man that I love. I bow my head and lean against him. "I know why you did it, Jean Luc Picard, but you if ever pull a stunt like that again…" I smirk, "I'll break both your legs...slowly."

A wide grin tugs at his austere features, "Acknowledged."

We allow ourselves to revel for a moment more. But, our celebration is incontestably inadequate. "Wes?" He looks away from me and slowly disengages himself. "Wesley?"

I've never seen a smile so big on Wesley's face as he moves in closer to Jean Luc. "It's good to-" The air is crushed from his chest before he can finish his sentence.

"Thank you, Wesley. Thank you." Jean Luc holds him tightly as if he's the essence of his very life. Cachinnating in pure, unadulterated alleviation, "A little bird tells me that this was all your doing".

"Well…" Wesley moves back and looks bashfully down at the floor with a red blush that creeps all the way up his pale neck. "I did have a lot of help..."

In a moment of tenderness that I've never seen one man display to another, Jean Luc raises Wesley's gaze to meet his own. "You saved me, Wesley. Thank you."

Wesley's smile and collected demeanor instantaneously erupt into sobs, expressing days of pent up fear, nightmarish horror, and now relief as he again moves into Jean Luc's still open arms. "I couldn't let them…" He gulps for precious oxygen amid the spasms of emotion. "I couldn't let them take you. Not after everything that's happened. Not after…" his voice cracks and more tears pour forth from my own eyes at the pure love that Wesley has, and has had, for this man. "Just not after I've had the chance to love you. I just couldn't lose you…"

"I know, Wes. I know." He soothes, a large hand rubbing circles on his back. "It's alright." He steps back and properly regards him. "I love you, Wesley. I've always loved you, even if sometimes I didn't show it, and I'm so proud to call you my son."

He nods his head as he's fixated on the trail of tears that he's left on Jean Luc's shirt, "I'm proud." He meets his soft regard, "To call you my father."

After a long moment of silence, "Ahem!" Two men emerge from the shadows and break the moment. "I'm sorry," The shorter of the two begins. "But we have to discuss what happens from here…"


	133. Chapter 133

** Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! Love hearing from you guys and if you are enjoying how things are going :) **

"Do from here?" Wesley intones confusedly. "I thought we were free to go. There aren't any more charges…"

"Of course, of course," the taller man holds out his hands in appeasement. "However, I'm sure that you experienced the public fury over the case on your way in. Not to mention," he looks to his right.

"Not the mention," The shorter picks up. "That you have uncovered some very serious evidence and put forth startling allegations against some of the highest profile members in not only this country and Starfleet, but in the entire Federation."

"I see," I suppose I hadn't considered the ramifications of making such claims. Looking broadly, though, it makes sense. "So," I sweep my gaze. "What are you saying?"

"What we're saying is that it's not yet safe for you to resume your normal activities… "

Wesley looks startled, "Are you saying we can't go home?"

"Listen," The taller begins, shuffling back and forth on his feet. "What you're seeing in the hallway and outside the building is only just the start. Until this story dies down, you're going to have to…I hate to say it, but you're going to have to hide out somewhere. Stay out of the public eye."

The shorter adds, "I'm sure you can understand; it's for your own safety."

I shake my head, "But I have patients, work, a practice that depends on me!"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Picard, but going back to work might disrupt your practice even more." The taller looks in the direction of the doors, "The press is going to be interested in you. Now," he gestures. "If it's your intention to make public statements and be under public scrutiny, then return to Yakima and your respective workplaces… but," He looks down. "We've gotten the feeling that you're private people and for your own safety… well I'm sure you understand."

"Yes," Jean Luc sighs. Turning to me, "Beverly, I know you want to get back to work. I want to get back to work! But, we've got to take every precaution - for Aaron, Saoirse," he looks back. "Wesley, _you_ and me."

I drop my shoulders with a defeated sigh, "You're right. You're right." I look back at him, still not believing that he's here with me. "I'm just…"

"I know," he whispers knowingly. "We all just want things to get back to normal."

The shorter man again interrupts, "Do you have somewhere that you might be able to go?"

He's silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts before a knowing smile lights his features. "Yes," he looks at Wesley and me. "Yes I believe we do."


	134. Chapter 134

I've had some experience with the press, but that was a long time ago. When I was in charge of Starfleet Medical, we had one very high profile case just two months before I left to go back to the Enterprise. The Vulcan ambassador had taken ill during an important trade negotiation. He had required immediate surgery and soon after, I had to make a statement in font of the press corps. However, it was a small event. I remember being photographed with several Vulcan officials, and asked a few questions. That was it. This, though, nothing could have prepared me for this.

Hundreds of people line every entrance and exit of the courthouse. There's an unmistakable, distinctly and palpably precarious energy generated by so many gathered in one place. Leaving and immersing ourselves in it, reminds me of the old Earth tale about the parting of the Red Sea. We are told that "no comment," is an acceptable answer to almost every query. Personally, I think that all of us are too stunned even to care to formulate two words. Therefore, silence is chosen.

Wesley wipes his hands on his shirt, imparting a semblance of dryness to his now nearly constant clamminess. "Do you think," he looks drearily out the window of the hover-car, reporters and journalists banging at the reinforced glass. "That it's like even at home?"

Jean Luc rubs his tired eyes, willing away the bright spots brought on by the intense flashes of the holo-cameras. "I don't know what expect, Wes. I'd assume so, otherwise they wouldn't have had to forewarn us…"

"Do you think Aaron and Saoirse are okay?"

I lay a hand on his knee in an effort to comfort and ground not only him, but myself as well. "Wes, I'm sure that Hope wouldn't let anything happen to them."

The hover-car ambles slowly through the vast throng until finally open roads are reached. "Eh," Jean Luc slides forward in the seat. "We need to get to a transporter station-"

The shorter man turns in his seat, and faces us. "Don't worry, Captain, we've got you covered." He looks forward and then back to us, gathering his thoughts. "The press," He looks over his sunglasses at Wesley (after experiencing the flashes from the cameras, I now understand the need…). "Is as you suspected; they've been camped out in your hometown since you were discovered there."  
/

Having so many people crowded on our lawn, trampling our garden, itching for just a statement from us feels like a new type of transgression entirely. This plot of Earth, this home, is our private sanctuary. Hardly anyone comes to this lonely place. Secluded far away from the road and wandering eyes, this is where we've built our life together. I'm sad to be leaving it again, if only for a while. I tell myself that it's necessary though, and where we're going is almost home in and of itself.

"Jean Luc?" I'm too tired to pack. I find myself just throwing random bits of clothing into a bag, not really scrutinizing and discerning each piece.

"Beverly?" I look over at him as he peruses his own closet. His profile has changed in the last week. Like myself, he's grown gaunt. He's tired, weary, and it shows. But, no matter how tired, thin, or lanky he's become; he's still incredibly handsome. I'm drawn to him from across the room, like a body falling under the influence of gravity.

It's the first time we've been alone in days... Well we're not truly alone; Hope is with the kids in the other room while Wesley packs his own bag. "Jean Luc," I say it again, moving closer to him.

"Beverly?" His back is still turned to me as I wrap my arms around his waist, lay my head on his shoulder, position my nose against the delicate skin of his neck, and draw his body close to mine.

I hear his light laugh as he turns around, reversing our positions and enveloping me against him. For a long moment, we say nothing. We are content to look, to hold, and to memorise. Because, what is there to say? Too much; there are too many words that need to be spoken. So, for now, we choose to be content with silence.

Peripheral background noise of Saoirse's merriment, Hope's cooing, and Aaron's subtle laughter colour the air surrounding us. I smile through my fatigue and unfurl one of my arms from around his neck. In doing so, I allow my hand to linger over the sparse hair at the back of his head. Then, I snake a curved path around his skull to his face. For the second time today, I trace the fine lines of his forehead down the bridge of his strong nose, in through the smooth divot of his cupid's bow, and over his lips. The lips are one of the most sensitive areas on the body; their thin, soft skin is littered with a distinct type of pressure receptor, making them receptive to even the slightest of touches. So, I allow the back of my finger to investigate every concavity, each smooth unevenness, and every slight curve before I slowly move to taste him with my own.

The kiss meant to be chaste, an offering of comfort and solace. It's meant to be a quick gesture. But, what began as conciliatory quickly becomes much more. His tongue slides lightly and effortlessly over my own bottom lip, beseeching entrance.

It's been too long since he's kissed me. The last I remember, Jack Crusher had repeated this same gesture. Then I had been cold, stalwart, closed off and revolted. My kisses, I promised myself, are only reserved for one man. This man. So, before I register his tongue, I open my mouth to him. I didn't anticipate how aggressive or how voracious I'd be - but some things can't be helped. I notice that he feels it too when I find myself pushed against the wall, his knee insinuating itself greedily between my legs as he opens me to him. There's that undeniable, addictive heat flowing effortlessly between our bodies. He presses at me, his hands moving from cradling my jaw, down over my shoulders, gingerly over my sides and up under my shirt to rest on the sensitive, ticklish skin of my waist.

I could have lost him, I think. Forever. So, I grip him tighter, hold him as close as I can as I plunge my tongue past his teeth, mingling with his own, tasting him, loving him.

The urge to breathe combined with the sound of footsteps breaks the moment. "Mom, Dad?" Wesley knocks at the door.

"What is it, Wes?" He pulls away from me, but stays connected as he holds my hand.

He pokes his head in, his bag on his shoulder. "I don't mean to interrupt," A smile perks up and dances across his mouth. "But we need to get going."

Later, I sigh, looking down as I try to hide the blush on my pale cheeks. Later...


	135. Chapter 135

"Jean Luc, are you sure?" The question is superfluous (we're going regardless), but still I want to be positive.

"Yes," he smiles, rolls his eyes, and capitulates for the third time, or is it the fourth? "I'm sure."

"And we're not going to be too much of an inconvenience?"

"Beverly!"

"Okay, Okay," I hold my hands up in surrender. "I won't ask again," I nudge his shoulder, earning kiss on my cheek.

He takes my hand, tightly entwining our fingers. "They're family. And," he glances to his right. "They're excited to spend more time with Wesley and the little ones – you know Marie. Also," He beams. "I don't think Renee's showed Wes off to enough of his friends…"

Wesley smirks, but hangs his head at the admission, "Oh no," he wipes his eyes to conceal his embarrassment. "Those kids are convinced that I'm some sort of hero… And I don't know enough French to convince the otherwise!"

Jean Luc removes the hand covering Wesley's eyes and now-burning cheeks, "You are, Wesley." His voice laced with a tone of utter seriousness tinged with unimaginable thankfulness. "You saved all of us."

/

"Look at them," I look over to my left. Wesley's fallen asleep with Saoirse in his lap. I don't think I've ever seen two people more deeply asleep; a red alert in the shuttle wouldn't even dare to wake them. His arm is wrapped protectively around her growing body, cradling her, warming her. Her precious tiny hand insinuates itself lightly over his heart; her little face is almost completely obscured - light coming in the windows of the shuttle has been blocked out by swaths of delicate auburn ringlets.

"She looks so much like you, Beverly," He whispers softly, continuing our adoration of these children whom we've been blessed with.  
"No way," I turn my head to kiss the underside of his jaw. "She looks like you."

He shakes his head, "Oh no. Look at those curls!"

"Well," I concede with a grin. "The curls and the hair colour are mine; they're all Howard…" A stray ringlet dangling in front of my eyes reminds me of that very fact. "But her eyes," I turn his gaze to mine, admiring the emerald-grey irises that no matter how many times I look into, always seem new. "Her eyes, her face – she's you." I breathe, "And she's beautiful."

"And what about," Jean Luc turns his attention to the sleeping bundle propped against his chest. "This one?"

"Well this one," I lightly allow myself to run my fingers through Aaron's growing mousy-brown hair. "This little one is going to be a spitting image of Wesley. Handsome, tall- "

"That's for sure," He laughs. "How many centimeters has he grown in the last two weeks?"

I roll my eyes and stifle a laugh, "Goodness, Jean Luc, I don't even want to hazard a guess! It'll just remind me how quickly he's growing up!"

His tone is melancholy almost, "Not too fast, I hope."

"What's wrong?" I rivet his gaze to again meet mine.

"Nothing…"

"Jean Luc," I whisper. "Talk to me."

"We could have… I could have lost all of this," His voice cracks as his eyes scan first the sleeping baby, then Wesley and Saoirse, before he turns back to me as mist laces those beautiful green eyes. Yes, I think. We came close – too close.

"We could have," I kiss him again to remind myself that he's here. "But, we didn't."

He nods, "Thank goodness."

For a few moments, we let ourselves revel in the peaceful silence. Our children are safe, no one's being held hostage, and we're not fighting for our lives, or running from the authorities. Jean Luc isn't in jail, or worse… We're here. Together.

I feel a slight rumble and a hint of laughter coming from the warm constitution next to me. "What?" I chime, leaning in as if he has a secret for me.

"Wesley, he…" He trails off.

"Wesley, what?"

He looks away from Wes' and Saoirse's direction. A grin as big as the Cheshire cat's has lit up his whole face; he's beaming. "Wesley, he…he calls me 'Dad' now."

His smile is infectious, "Yes," I whisper, looking at Wesley's sleeping form. I have to stifle a giggle at how much of a child he looks like. I have to keep reminding myself that he's in his 20s now. But, it's moments like these where he's holding his baby sister and drooling onto his shoulder where I can keep alive the naive notion that he is indeed just our little boy. "He asked me…"

"What?" He utters in anticipation.

I look back at him, "He asked me if you were okay with it- he asked me if you minded him calling you 'Dad'."

He shakes his head, his smile having no intention of going anywhere. "I told you once before, Beverly, that I always wished that Wesley was… well," He looks almost bashful. "And now that he is, I'm so proud. I'm so honoured that he would think of me as his father. But you don't think…"

"Think what?"

His smile fades slightly as his demeanor grows serious, "Think that he just calls me that because of what happened with Jack?"

I straighten my back, altering my posture and strengthening my voice. "Wesley calls you that because that's how he feels. He's always felt that way, Jean Luc – " I reach up and cradle his cheek in my palm. "Wesley has always loved you, even if he couldn't always express it like he does now, and even if you couldn't always openly reciprocate." I drop my shoulders, "In all honesty, Jean Luc, Wesley always thought of you that way." Smiling at the memory, "He looked up to you so much when he was a little boy. Jack was never around and I think you remember what it was like when he was…" I wipe a stray tear from his cheek as he summarily foments old memories. "So, no, Jean Luc. This isn't anything new; to Wesley, you'll always be his father regardless of where the other half of his DNA came from."

**Thank again guys for reading this and participating in the story! Reading reviews from you brightens my day and I so look forward to them :)**

**Mels: thanks a million! I hope they were tears of joy, though! God knows we've had enough angst in this story!**

**Martin D: I hope you're alright! I'm glad, though, that this story was able to keep your mind off of whatever was going on. Again, so grateful for your kind words. Thank you very much. **

**Linds: As always - very grateful for your input and I love hearing from you. **

**To anyone else who I didn't name: Thank you guys and keep your input coming! Much, much, much appreciated! **


	136. Chapter 136

The house is lit in the distance. Like a beacon to wayward and weary sailors, we're drawn to its sultry, warm cadence as a welcome symbol of rest, peace and respite.

Just as a pistol shot, the front door flings open, slamming against the side of the house and ushering out a petite blur of rushing limbs and bright topple of ginger hair. "Jean Luc! Beverly! Wesley! Mon Dieu!" I'm the closest, and in a second I'm knocked back, stunned by the force of her momentum as my arms reach to embrace her of their own accord.

"Marie!" I breathe excitedly against the undone bun. "It's good to see you."

"Beverly," She steps back with tears in her eyes. "My God! Beverly, we were so worried!"

She looks back to Jean Luc and Wesley, respectively carrying Saoirse and Aaron. "Wesley," she moves, more slowly this time to pull him down and kiss his cheek. "Wesley," She cradles his face, "you had us going mad with worry! Renee hasn't stopped asking about you, neither has Robert. Can you imagine how sick we all were?!"

I see a blush creep over his cheeks again, "I'm s-"

"Ah!" She holds up her hand with a tisk and a knowing grin as she scans for Jean Luc.

"And you! Jean Luc Picard, what were you thinking?! How could you do that?" She throws up her hands histrionically. "It was bad enough when we'd heard that you were assimilated by the Borg – what do you think this did to us?!" She looks around at all of us as Robert bounds to meet her. His presence, though, calms her. "We're just so glad" she tears again. "That you're safe here with us."

"Thank you, Marie," Jean Luc bows his head. "Robert."

In one large movement, Robert gathers his brother against him, sobbing. "I won't beat you up like Marie." He laughs amid the tears. "But, mon frère, when will you ever learn to stay out of trouble?" He smiles and wipes the moisture from his wrinkled cheek. "It's good to have you home with us."

/

"Maintenant," Marie starts as she closes the door behind us. "I know it's late, but are you hungry?" She puts her hands around my wait, "You're all absolutely emaciated!"

I smile. "No," and shake my head and rub my tired eyes as I look over at the two sleeping babies. "I think we'd all like to get to bed. It's been a while since we've slept."

"Absolument," Marie nods. "I've kept your same rooms; Wesley at the top right, Saoirse next to him, and Aaron closer to Robert and me. And, we've given you Jean Luc's old room on the third floor, just like last time."

She steps back and gives us one final nod. "Alors," she kisses my cheek, then Wesley's, Jean Luc's, and lastly Saoirse's and Aaron's sleeping brow. "Bon nuit. We love all of you."

"Thank you, Marie," Jean Luc yawns. "I really don't know how to-"

"Shh! Jean Luc – you are family and this is as much your home as it is ours. Now," She winks. "Get to bed."

**Lads, I was watching All Good Things and Data mentioned the Daystrom Institute and I momentarily had PTSD... until I realised that none of this is real. :)**


	137. Chapter 137

I can't sleep. In the past, insomnia was a frequent and welcome friend. Together we'd stay up, have longs talks, work, read… But insomnia hasn't come to visit me since I left the Enterprise and got married. I can't even remember a night that either after making love or simply tumbling into bed, my eyes didn't close immediately and usher me into a restful somnolence.

But tonight… tonight I'm paralysed, stuck in this horrible, sleeplees limbo. I try closing my eyes and honing in on the smooth, almost inaudible lullaby sung by the respirations coming from the man holding me. Small puffs of air dance at the baby hairs at my neck. Ugh, I roll my eyes thinking of my hair: I still need to get a shower.

A shower. I feel dirty. I am dirty. Not only outside, I think, but inside. I've been violated over and over. First Ronin, then Jack. Oh Ronin was one thing. He was a parasite and in hindsight, I suppose I shouldn't take it personally. For him, I was the 'right place and right time'. But Jack, oh Jack was premeditated. He made me fall in love with him with no intention of returning that love. He took my virginity and years of my life – not only in marriage, but also in grief. And what was the purpose? I suppose the purpose was to give me my son. And, Wesley, I console myself, is worth all of that.

But tonight, when I close my eyes and try to sleep, I see Jack again: those heartless eyes, that hollow face, those evil hands... I pull Jean Luc's arm tighter around my waist like a safety blanket mystically acting as a shield to protect me from the monsters under the bed and in the closet.

Maybe if I get up and walk around, perhaps go downstairs and get something to drink… maybe then I'll be able to sleep. I turn my head to look at him before I heedfully disengage myself from his warm embrace. I know from experience that I could practically leap out of bed, jostling the whole ensemble and Jean Luc would just keep on sleeping as if nothing had happened. But, tonight, I'm being cautious.

I've always loved this home's large windows. So much light is let in through their tall grandiosity. Even in the bedrooms, they reach all the way to the ceiling, giving the occupant a full view of the land and surrounding vineyards. Jean Luc's father built this home with pride. He took great satisfaction in this land, and in this house. And, it shows.

At home, if I were to look out the window at this time, all I would see is utter blackness. No lights dare intrude on our sky after the sun has set and mandated it be dark. Here, though, it's nearly aphotic, bar the little lights that Robert entwined all along the vines. The whole yard is alight with an ethereal sort of sparkle. I smile remembering when I asked Renee about it:

Renee, why do you have small lights all along the vines?

He looked wistful as he delayed his response, as if gathering a great thought. Before he answered, he smiled as he stared at the dark sky overhead. "Papa put them there for me." He paused again. "He said that he wanted to bring me the stars until I could go and touch them myself."

And little stars are what they are; Shining, sparkling, effervescent. Beautiful.

Lost in my musings I barely hear soft footfall behind me. Large hands break my reverie as I register them on the small of my waist through the silk of my nightgown.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes," he whispers against my neck as he pushes heaps of auburn aside to kiss that spot just below my earlobe.

I laugh at the tickling sensation. "But," I turn in his arms. "You never wake up – not for anything."

My movement hasn't halted his movement as his kisses continue down the thin, sinewy lines of my neck. "I went to pull you closer and you weren't there."

"Oh?"

I lean into him as his hands move from my waist, slowly up my ribcage, and over my shoulders before he replaces his lips with them on my neck. They reach their final destination, though, where they cradle my jaw. "I can't sleep without you, Beverly." He looks down. "I can't do anything without you, because nothing makes any sense if you're not in it."

I match his gaze, locking our eyes. Like a magnet is pulling me, I move as quickly as a serpent to capture his lips with my own. Earlier I at least feigned some air of chastity. But now, in the light of Renee's stars and in the aftermath of nearly losing him, I feel the distinct need to consume every bit of him that I can.

Just because we're married doesn't mean that I've stopped fantasizing about Jean Luc. In my fantasies, we make love with agonizing languidness. We take seconds and draw them into days as we reverently explore with hands, mouths, limbs... Oh don't get me wrong: we do that often enough. But right now, I can't wait for that slow ideal. The urge, no the hunger, to be joined to him is oppressive, obligatory.

I'm running out of air so I pull back. The brief hiatus gives him license to pull the white silk nightgown over my head and discard it listlessly on the floor. I mirror his action and his T-shirt befalls the same end. His shorts are the last fatality.

Out of habit and anticipation, my breathing speeds up. Seeing him bathed in nothing but the light of Renee's stars and the faint illumination of the moon causes me to salivate. "I want you," my hand insinuates itself over his heart where I pinpoint the familiar click and swoosh of the alloy valves. My fingers trace familiar lines of the faint, lingering scar of the Naussican blade -an ode to Jean Luc's foolish youthful indiscretion.

I feel his eyes on me, as he again memorises my shape. Those eyes roam every inch with a love and a tenderness that I never thought existed. He's worshipping me like I'm doing to him. But, beatification has its limits and soon I'm again goaded to action.

I fix my eyes on his, locking us together. Then I let my finger snake with deliberate slowness as it travels lower. I reach my target and he jumps, "Beverly!". That does it and he's lost every shred of self-control.

I wrap my hand around him, educing a groan from deep in his throat. But he knows if I do that, he won't last. So, he pushes my hand away as his mouth greedily claims my own. He pushes his tongue straight past my lips and engages me. There's that familiar duelling with no particular order or structure. We simply want taste one another.

His hands skitter maddeningly over my breasts, down my stomach eliciting small ripples in the muscles, and lower. But I won't give him the satisfaction that he denied me, so I tease him and push his hand away.

He breaks our kiss with a puppy dog frown. I smile and shake my head, "Uh, unh." It's a challenge; it's a plea. He takes the bait and in a moment I'm abruptly swept into his arms. The bed is only two paces away. So not as soon as I've been picked up, I'm thrown down on the downy, cushioned familiarity of the white covers; the softness of the bed and the blankets creates an enticing cocoon. The force of my landing draws a sheepish smile, making me laugh as I pull him down on top of me.

He's here, I think. He's with me and he's not going anywhere. I look at him, admiring him again for the thousandth time as he strums his fingers through my mussed, dirty hair. "You're so beautiful, Beverly," His breath warms my face before his kisses me again.

"I love you," I whisper between open-mouth kisses.

I register his burning, feverish erection against my thigh; its presence is again making me salivate. "Please," I can't bear it any long. The muscles comprising my walls have already started to preemptively contract in anticipation of him. And then there's that familiar tingling…

I don't think he wants to make me beg this evening, so he lets me reach for him, position him, and he pushes the rest of the way through. I cry out his name like a prayer when I first feel him enter me. He, though, gets his revenge for earlier as he pushes all the way with an excruciating sluggishness as a playfully retributive smile plays at him.

I breathe in relief when I feel him fill me and press up against my inmost parts. He wants to move; I know he won't last if I try to draw this out. But just for this moment I hold him still, my hand gently insinuating itself on his bottom. I want to revel in the feeling of finally being joined again. For these are the times when I am most complete: when I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually bonded to the man to whom my soul has cleaved.

He mirrors my earlier request, "Please Beverly". He begs against the warm skin of my neck. So I answer him with a smile, "move". And that does it. In a second he's pounding into me. I feel an orgasm build and dangle precipitously in front of me. So, I reach out and grab it, yelling his name as I'm pulled over the edge. His mouth, though, captures the zenith of my cry as his own orgasm floods over him. I feel a warmth spread from my womb to all the cells of my body.

I wrap around him in the spams of my orgasm. I hold tight to him not only with the muscles surrounding him, but with every contractile sinew in my body. Paroxysms of pleasure quake through me, leaving me boneless and incoherent. He's not finished yet, though, when I feel a stray hand move down, circling me and coating him wetly in the mixture of our combined pleasure. He moves until I'm gasping again, "Jean Luc!" I want to tell him that I can't take any more - that there isn't a categorised physiologic response to this type of ecstasy. But, he'll have none of it as he kisses away any argument or fruitless protest.

Finally, I feel alive. I didn't realize how completely and mordantly dead I've been until this moment when he's imparted life back into me.

"I missed you," Are the only three words that I can manage through the moisture and emotional spasms that I'm riding out. I keep him on top of me in the aftermath. He wants to move, afraid he'll crush me. But still I hold him with my last ounce of strength, tighter now that I feel him slipping away.

With the warmth of his form still covering me, I feel it – that other, more recently familiar and welcome friend: Sleep. And so in the afterglow of lovemaking and my utter satiation, I hold tight to my husband and take her hand as she ushers me into blissful oblivion.


	138. Chapter 138

"Unnnnaahhhhhh," I'm barely coherent as I stand limply under the broad, steady stream of steaming water. For the moment, I am content to just stand here – making no effort to reach for soap of any kind as I simply allow the rivulets of water to slosh enticingly over every single curve.

The water is hot, scalding my skin and leaving it red and blotchy. Why is it that even in the midst of the uncomfortable burning sensation, I'd rather be blanched than turn the old dial down one bit and bear a cooler temperature?

I allow the heat to roam all over my shoulder, like a thousand tiny little touches, and soothe away the tension that I've held there over the past week. I still can't believe it, I think, that we've made it out of all of this and that we're all safe. I shudder when I think of all the myriads of outcomes that could have been had…

My thoughts sink back to Caldos and Nana. I felt so angry when I left there. I was so bitter that I barely said two words at her burial. In a nanosecond I'm immediately transported to the Daystrom Institute, those dark, doleful corridors enveloping me in darkness. The cold faces of Savet, Vera, and Jack. Savet. He was Vulcan, but his mannerisms and emotions denied everything about his heritage. Yes, I know, there are Vulcans who refuse to undertake the Kolinahr, the ritual ceremony where emotions are purged. But, it's rare and many are exiled for doing so. But, Savet – he was special. Many Vulcans who reject the Kolinahr are erratic, almost childlike in their emotional expressions. Savet, though, was controlled and sadistic. He was, indeed, an interesting case study. And Jack, well… I feel like I've agonized enough over him. But, it's hard not to. I should talk to Jean Luc about it; his appearance fomented a lot of questions in both of us that we've not broached. I think Jean Luc is hesitant to foment those questions, though. He feels guilty, I think, about the past. So do I - well even more so.

And what about Wesley? He hasn't spoken about anything; we haven't really had time to talk over what happened as a family. I'm sure he has questions; I know he's hurt and probably angry in some way. But what do I say to him? How do I-

"Beverly?"

I turn around with a smile, "Jean Luc?" He's standing in front of me, gloriously naked. "We've been here before, I think…" I tease as I reach for his arm to draw him close.

I pull him flush against me and he immediately moves to wrap two hands around my waist. "What's this new habit of yours: leaving me alone in bed?"

I just smile teasingly back at him as I wait for him to continue.

"You see," He begins with a mock earnestness. "I think you know that every morning, I have this," He raises one hand to gesticulate with a feigned air of pedagogy before he matches my gaze. "Particular problem…"

I look down at his impressive erection against my thigh, "Oh?" I look back up. "And what kind of a problem would that be?"

"You know," He backs slowly backs me up against the tile wall. "I really don't know…"

"Oh you don't," I laugh. "Do you?"

"No," He shakes his head innocently. "I was hoping that you, as a Doctor, could diagnose it for me."

"Well," I look up, pursing my lips and stifling a giggle. "I don't know, Jean Luc. I don't have my tricorder…"

"I was thinking," His hands move slowly up my waist to lie on the underside of my breast. "For a more hands on approach…."

"Well," it's hard enough to think with him standing in front of me naked, but the slow, gentle kisses that he's feathering on my neck are making me mute. "Jean Luc," I push him back, "You'll have to let me take a look."

He grins as I slide down, giving me a direct view. "Is this," I point at him, not quite touching him yet. "The problem?"

He put his chin in his palm as if deep in thought, "Yes, I do believe it is. Do you know a treatment?"

I move steadily back up to meet him as I wrap one hand delicately around his erection. "I think so, Jean Luc. But," I sigh with a professional disposition. "You'll need multiple, _aggressive_ treatments."

He resumes his kisses, this time over my brow and down my cheeks. "Will you be administering them?"

"Every single one," I start to move my hand, back and forth with a distinct tempo.

"Well," his lips descend on mine, our tongues mingle, and saliva is deliciously exchanged. "Is there," another kiss. "A cure, Doctor?"

"No," I manage before his mouth again claims my own.

"Oh, good," his hands now become more forceful as I stifle a laugh which is subsequently swallowed by his lips. This time when his hands move lower to cup me, I don't stop him. But, in doing so, our kiss is broken when my head bumps the wall of the cavernous shower in pure ecstasy.

"Jean Luc!" His fingers insinuate themselves over me as their trail light circles, eliciting a million tiny shudders, and drag me towards release. I feel inside of me now, touching that one particular spot, and my vision fades to white. I'm panting as he holds me against him. "I love you," he whispers. I reach for him, still erect, my walls still contracting, as he positions himself. I greedily drag him the rest of the way until he's fully embedded. It doesn't take long before another orgasm floods over me, and then another as he himself comes.

I'm still gulping for air, held against the warm tile wall, water spilling over us. I look at him through hazy eyes, "Better?"

He just laughs as he continues his kisses, "For now."

What began as an act solely to wash myself takes on an infinitely more sensual demeanor when Jean Luc and I do so together. I have to admit, other than Caldos, this is the first time we've been able to indulge in this activity in a while. And Caldos, even, that wasn't languorous – it was pyretic and frenzied in its intensity. It wasn't meant to be exploratory and sensual. It was meant to fill and need and confirm.

I love it when Jean Luc washes my hair. The colors have always tantalized him: all the different hues of reds and gold that mingle and dance together in the light. It's long and heavy, but he takes his time, seemingly washing every strand. And when he moves to my scalp, I die a thousand little deaths. His hands purposefully relax me with expert strokes that soothe away tension.

I groan as his hands move over my aching shoulders, down my back, and all the way to the ground over my legs. He leaves no inch of me untouched by the delicate bubbles.

Soon, I move in to do the same to him. It's a kind of admiration that I take part in. I scrutinize every muscle, every bone, and I marvel and cherish every scar. I mentally go back and think about the ways that he got each of them. Most of them I know, because most of them I treated. Whenever I would go into erase them with the dermal regenerator, he always refused me. "Why Jean Luc?" I asked him once. "You don't want scars all over your body!" He shook is head and smiled at me. "Leave them, Beverly, as reminders." He looked down, "What good is a body without the evidence of the life that it has lived?" So, he's kept them – almost like trophies. I still see faint reminders of his assimilation not three years ago; there's that faded circular one at his neck, and two just above his scapular spine. And there's the one he got while climbing on the holodeck – with the safeties off. And here's my favorite: the one lying over his sternum from when he was impaled on the Naussican blade. I think I love it so much because it makes Jean Luc so uniquely who he is. We never would have met, I think, without this scar. This scar, however inadvertently, brought us together.

I look away from his chest when I feel his eyes on me. He's giving me that look again. It's the same look he's always given me.; it's the same look that I first noticed about him when we first met. It's a gaze of pure, unadulterated love and adoration even in the midst of my foibles and downfalls. "I love you, Jean Luc." I whisper as I move in to kiss him. "I love everything about you - especially your scars."

**Thank you everyone for commenting. I have to admit that after yesterday I had no clue where to take this. And then I woke up this morning and everyone had said such lovely thing and given me some good direction! Can't tell you how much that means! Keep it coming! Again, much appreciated**

**Tiffany: Good to have you here! So glad that you've been enjoying the story. Makes me smile. And thanks for saying such nice things!**

**Cholee: Thanks a million for reading and reviewing!**

**Martin: Here you go! Last night I had no ideas left in me! **

**Mels: Wrote this with your comment in mind! Hope this fits the bill.**

**Monica: Thank you, love :)**


	139. Chapter 139

"We need to talk to him," I muffle through the towel as I try my hair.

"Weshey?" he mutters through a mouth full of toothpaste. Spitting it out, he repeats, "Wesley?"

"Mmmm," I agree. "I was thinking…"

He regards me in the mirror. "We have to talk to him about Jack… about what's happened."

"He's barely said a word about it…" He moves to reason with me, but I hold up my hands and allow myself to finish. "I know we haven't had much time to discuss it, but what happened was, is, inconceivable and I don't…." I fumble, grappling with what I want to say. "Jean Luc I don't know what to say to him."

He shakes his head as he turns to me. "There's nothing that we can _say_, Beverly. Nothing's that we do is going to erase what happened." He looks down, defeated. "I killed Jack right in front of him…"

"Jean Luc," I move in and lay a comforting kiss on his temple as I cradle his jaw. "That couldn't be helped."

"I know," he looks up. "But you're right, we should say something."

/

"Marie?" The downstairs is completely deserted. We went to check on Saoirse and Aaron, but both cribs were empty. That's when I hear amid the stillness: laughter. It's coming from outside. I take his hand and we follow the direction of the sound. "Jean Luc! Beverly!" Marie looks up from Saoirse, whose face is so adorably, unceremoniously covered in crumbs and red, strawberry jam.

"Bon jour," Marie winks through a laugh at the state of Saoirse's face.

"Papa!" The little girl points with a smile to Jean Luc as she gets up from their picnic spot on the grass.

"Hi there, Kitten," he bends down and sweeps her into his arms. She's so sweet as she lays a kiss on his cheek, gracing him with the same crumbs that adorn her. "What's this, Kitten?" He wipes his cheek, tasting the sticky specks. "Is this," he smiles at her. "One of Marie's croissants?"

She just bobs her head up and down with a big grin. "Cussant!"

"What's all this?" I regard their picnic under the large willow tree. My eyes roam the large arbor. Weeping willow, that's what it's called. And you know, I couldn't think of a more apt adjective as it's leaves hang like tears frozen, suspended in a moment. I smile to myself as I remember Jean Luc telling me about it long before I ever saw it.

_"It's been on our land since our family bought the land." He explained one night over a glass of vintage Picard._

_"When was that?" I asked hazily, at that point feeling the effects of the remarkable merlot._

_"Five generations ago," He looked up at the ceiling woozily. "Or was it six?" _

_"What's special about it, Jean Luc?" We'd finished work late and we were both off duty the next day. He'd asked me to share a bottle and I was too in love with him to say no. He looked handsome. Well, he always looks handsome… I remember the way that his uniform would cling to the right places and hang in others, only barely concealing the man underneath. _

_"That willow?" He asked prosaically as he beheld me with that same glance. "Well," I remember how wistfully he looked into his glass, as if it was a portal to the past. "It's the only place I remember my brother, my father, and I being truly happy. It's where father taught us to climb a tree…" He laughed. "Robert and I would climb for hours, pretending it was a fort or even a starship. It's the only place I remember…" He stopped to savor the feeling. "Having good memories of home." _

"Well…" Marie begins, looking very satisfied.

"Renee suggested that we have a picnic for breakfast before he went to school. And," Robert signals towards the clear blue sky. "I couldn't have agreed more." He pauses, as if delicately savouring his next words. "Not too hot, non, and eh, not too cold," He regards Marie with a grin. "A perfect French summer morning."

"Indeed," she whispers back as a serene smile sets over her. I see it in her; I see it in the way she looks at Robert holding the little baby. Maybe one day.

Yes, indeed, I agree silently. For the moment I allow myself to abandon the worry and the angst as I close my eyes and luxuriate in what is truly a perfect morning. The knowledge of how hot it will grow in just a few hours heightens my regard as I allow the valley breeze to rustle through fluffily clean strands of long red. There's the smell that I love so much: the one that smells like some heavenly perfume. It smells like... lilacs. That's it. Lilacs, violets, lavender, and another faintly sweet source that I can't quite pinpoint. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it was the grapes. But it's so distinctive that I can't say for sure.

I feel a tiny, soft finger on my hand. "Mama," she says. I open my eyes, "Yes Kitten." Nothing. She just smiles. I smooth a ringlet back from her tiny face, "I love you." To think I'd never see that face again, say those words, feel those tiny hands. The notion is strangling and leaves a knot in my throat.

"Jean Luc, Beverly," Marie breaks my abstraction before I can inflict more emotional tumult on myself. "Come. Sit. Eat." She motions to the well-worn blanket and laughs, "Before you both disappear with the breeze!"

I see Jean Luc scan the milieu; first back at the house, then the old willow, the vineyards, the barn, and the gardens. He's searching. "Robert," he hesitates. "Where is Wesley?"

"Papa," Saoirse distracts. "Down," she points.

"Veins, ma puce," Robert motions to her. "Wesley said he wanted to take a walk."

"He stayed with us for breakfast. He even went with Robert to take Renee to school, can you believe it?" Marie's smile is incomplete though. I sense there's something she's not telling me.

"What, Marie?" Is something wrong?

"There's a sadness in him, Beverly, that wasn't there the last time," she whispers.

I know. "Yes, well…"

A light, warm hand finds its way onto my arm. "Talk to him," she looks at Jean Luc. "He thinks the world of you." She adds with a warm smile. "He loves you very much."

I glance at my husband, who's wearing a bright pink blush that goes all the way to the tip of his head. "We'll talk to him. We were going to anyhow… but there's just so much…" he abashedly looks to Robert. "That we just don't know where to start."

Robert's rumble of laughter is riveting. "Well we learned that you have to at least start somewhere… or you'll end up in a pit of mud!"

I grin at the memory of Jean Luc telling me how he and his brother resolved over 20 years of differences in a mud fight! When I'd heard it, I didn't believe it. What's more, I couldn't believe that Jean Luc told me about it. Then, it had been so out of character. But now that I've seen the boyish side of him, I've come to realize how that particular incident was only a small expression of the whimsical, spontaneous person that he's shown himself to be.

"Oh!" Marie throws her hands up in amusement. "I remember that it took me weeks to get that mud out of the carpets!"

"Jean Luc, Beverly," Robert's voice grows serious and he stops bouncing Aaron on his knee. "You should be very proud of yourselves and Wesley for what you did. We saw it on the console this morning: formal investigations have been opened into the government, Starfleet, and even the Academy."

"That was all Wesley's doing," Jean Luc replies. "He figured the whole thing out with some help from our former crew members. He's…" A sudden panic overtakes him as he matches Robert's regard and reaches for my hand. "Robert, what time did Wesley go for that walk?"

The Picards are truly old-fashioned. And if Jean Luc's paper textbooks, exam papers, and lawnmower fixation aren't proof enough, I'm further reminded when Robert lifts his sleeve to reveal an antique watch. "Eh, I would say it's been an hour and a half at this point." He looks up. "Leave him, Jean Luc. You remember what you were like at that age…"

"I know," he sighs. "But this is different." I feel a tug on my hand as he rises, similarly encouraging me to do the same. "We'll be back."

Marie gives us a knowing nod, "Go." She shoos. "We're going to spoil the little ones some more!"

**Thanks again, everyone! Your comments are so helpful. **

**Sasha: Thank you times a million for your lovely review. I will take that into consideration. I really, really appreciate it and will try to make it happen! **


	140. Chapter 140

"Where are we going?" I lean in as he leads me away from the house.

He points into the distance. "I remember when I came home the first year from the Academy." He pauses, knowing that I'm growing antsy. "It was one of the worst homecomings I've ever experienced. So much so that I stopped coming." The path narrows, surrounded on either side by flowers and tall grass. He steps onto the brush while giving me the path. "Papa said that if I didn't want to take part in the family business – then not to bother coming home. He said," he clears his throat. "He said I was a disgrace, that I flouted everything that the Picards held of any value, and well…" He smiles at me. "It does no good to dwell on the past."

I stop walking, signaling for him to do the same. "Jean Luc," I pull him to me. "Jean Luc, look at me." The rising, warm sun dances and reflects off of the delicate coat of moisture in his eyes, making them sparkle. "Jean Luc, it's not your fault."

"Intuitively," a large hand moves to rest on my waist. "I know that. But those were the last words that my father ever spoke to me." He again looks down, fixating on the small pebbles littered amid the dirt and the tractor marks. "But what Jack did to Wesley was so much worse than what my father did to me… My father never wanted to hurt me; he just didn't understand me and he interpreted that as disappointment. But," He looks up again. "I don't want…"

"What don't you want?"

"I don't want…" He tries to put together the words; "I never wanted any of this for Wes. I never wanted him to have to deal with anything like this… having father issues! It was bad enough when Jack was just dead. But now, I'm struggling because I don't know how to make this right…"

"Oh Jean Luc," I lean into him. "I don't know either, but," I kiss him again, take his hand, and continue walking. "We'll figure it out." I look to my left again, this time with a smile. "But, you still haven't told me where we're going."

The brush is now well past his ankles. Every step we take seems to elicit a great disturbance as tiny grasshoppers, moths, and colourful butterflies flee from our footsteps. And, there's that underlying melody of crickets singing their own solemn melody out in and around us. "There," he points.

At first I didn't see it. But there, in the distance, sitting on a low-lying tree branch, is the lone figure of a boy. From here he looks so small. His shoulders are hunched as his torso leans against the strong lines of the tree. He's completely still, albeit the occasional swing of his tawny, lanky leg. Our approach is anything but subtle as more parched wheat is displaced and small pebbles are crunched, but he doesn't turn to regard us.

"Wesley," Jean Luc wraps a hand playfully around his ankle. "Wesley?" He still doesn't respond.

"Wesley," I round his front. He's not that much higher than us, as the branch is so abnormally low to the ground. "Wesley please talk to us."

He sighs and looks down, defeated. "There's nothing to say. I'd just like to be alone."

"Oh no," Jean Luc breathes as he gains his own footing on the tree. "Move over."

"Come on!" he exasperates. "I'm fine, I just want to be alone!"

Jean Luc patiently shakes his head. "Stop acting like a petulant child, Wes. Scoot down."

"Fine," He droops his shoulders as he slides noisily along the dry bark.

"Beverly?" Jean Luc motions to the tree. "It's not the most ideal location, but uh," He slides down to sit nearer to Wesley. "It'll do."

"I don't know," I look warily.

"Come on," he reassures. "You'll be fine."

The shade provided by the tree yields a stark coolness as opposed to the hot sunshine that we walked through. It's peaceful, I think, that's why Wes came here. Sitting in silence, the senses are heightened. There's nothing left to distract you but the dulcet tones of the birds, the wind, the insects, and smells of the trees and flowers. It all surrounds you and lulls you, like a bewitching enchantment.

"Talk to us, Wesley." He whispers, leaning in.

He shrugs, "There's nothing to say…"

"There's a lot to say," I add. "Just start somewhere. We want you to be honest with us."

"Honest," he mirrors and nods his head. There's silence only punctuated by the sounds of the fields as he gathers what he wants to say.

"I don't belong here," he says, barely audible.

A pang of sadness punches me in the gut and I grab tighter to the cragged bark. "Belong where, Wesley?" Jean Luc utters back, his voice laced with the same melancholy.

"Here," he motions all around us. "With you," He turns to Jean Luc. "With your family, pretending that I actually belong here."

For a long moment, there's again silence. The sound of Jean Luc's hand moving away from the tree to take Wesley's is what breaks the moment. "Pretending that you belong?" He muses. "Why do you say that, Wes?"

"You saw him. You saw Jack Crusher," he spits out, his syllables cracking. "That man was my father – he gave me life and half of me is him." Tears bleed through, "I can't reconcile that with who I am…"

We're quiet to let him continue. "It was better when Jack was dead." He's emphatic, "I could pretend he was anyone I wanted him to be: a hero… I built my whole life around some ideal of him. And now…" He stops to look at Jean Luc directly. "Look at who he really was… a monster…." He cries through red eyes and wet cheeks, "What does that make me?"

"It makes you Wesley," Jean Luc wipes a hot tear away without missing a beat. "It makes you the young man who I am and have always been very proud of." He turns his downcast gaze to meet his own. "You're kind, Wesley. And you're loving, and giving. You've never hurt anyone, or anything. Just because Jack gave you life… that has no bearing on who you are as a person or what choices you make."

"But," he argues. "I could make those choices…"

"Anyone could make those choices, Wes!" He counters emphatically. "Regardless of who their mother or father was."

He nods, "I know, but..."

"Eh," Jean Luc holds up his hand with the quirk of a smile. "No 'buts'. You're not Jack Crusher so let that notion go immediately." He takes Wesley's limp hand into his own. "Is that why you feel like you don't belong?"

"Yes," he responds immediately. "No." He motions with his other hand. "I don't belong because I don't. Saoirse and Aaron and Renee – they're all Picards… but I'm just some sort of poser. An imposter."

"Wesley," I whisper through my own hurt. "That's not true."

"I just don't belong anywhere. I don't feel like a Crusher. Even the sound of that name," He laughs. "You know when your lawyer," He regards Jean Luc. "When he called me Mr. Crusher, I almost had to wrack my brain to remember who that was.

Mr. Crusher is Jack. I'm…" He shrugs, "I'm nobody. Just Wesley."

"Is that what you want, Wesley?" Jean Luc's hand moves from Wes' hand and is replaced on his shoulder.

"What I want?" Wesley is confused.

"You've always known how I've felt about you Wesley." He looks down, a little embarrassed. "Remember when you were 17 and you were making your second application to the Academy?"

A smile graces Wesley's voice, "Don't remind me!"

"Well," He laughs. "I had to fill out the paperwork… and," he looks at me with a smile. "I've never told anyone this because I was so embarrassed at how presumptuous of a notion it was. But," he lags. "I remember it was very late at night when I finally sat down to fill out the padd of information." He looks up, recalling the memory, "The first part of it was all biographical information – name, date of birth, place of birth… Well, I finished it. I don't remember how because I was so tired. But, uh, then I set it down for the evening because I still had to input my own letter of recommendation." He jumps the small distance down from the tree and moves to regard Wesley directly. "When I picked it up the next morning to double check all the information before I sent it, do you know what I had done?"

Wesley shakes his head with a grin, "In every single slot where your name had to go – and there were quite a few – I had input your name as Wesley Robert Picard."

Wesley smile broadens, "You did?"

"You never told me that, Jean Luc," I whisper through a smile so big it's hurting my face.

"Well…" He looks down bashfully as that same blush travels up his neck. "I was a little ashamed – making such a presumption. But uh," he looks at me as if to implicitly confirm his question.

I think I know and I couldn't agree more.

"Now, well…" I lay my hand on his. "Wesley, you know that I, how I," He sighs defeated, as the words which so eloquently and easily flow now won't come. "From when you were a little boy, I always wanted…"

**Thank you again, everyone, for the direction. **

**Maddie: Thanks a million! Here you go :) I love all the questions! **

**Martin D: Glad you've been enjoying this story. Hope you don't get tired of it :) **


	141. Chapter 141

"What are you saying?" He jumps down to reach his level, eagerness playing at him.

"It's always been yours for the taking, Wes." He confirms, his features soft and open. "I think you know that."

A blush colours Wesley's sallow skin, "Do you mean that?" He whispers.

"Of course I mean it–" a crooked smile gracing his face. "I wouldn't have offered it otherwise."

"But," Wes looks down, shuffling his feet against the dry dirt. "Are you just saying that just because of what happened?"

"What?" He stands back. "No, absolutely not."

"Wesley," I follow their lead and slip from the tree. "Is this something that you want?"

I grab his hand in the face of his reserve, "Wesley?"

"It's something that I always wanted…" he mumbles, gaze still downcast. He perks his head and looks at Jean Luc. "I've never been happier than I've been in the last year since I left the Academy." He begins to pace. "I… I… was happy on the Enterprise because I was able to explore my creativity. You," he looks at Jean Luc. "You gave me a lot of license to grow and experiment. And being around you, even if I felt that you were cold towards me sometimes, made me feel comforted and somehow closer to the person that I thought that Jack was…"

"I'm sorry, Wes, about the person that I used to be. I was afraid," he takes my hand. "I was uneasy around you and your mother because of the feelings that I held." I squeeze his hand as he lets out a sigh, "I was trying so hard to compensate for those feelings for her… and you…" He laughs at the memory. "I couldn't believe it when you first came on board! You were so little, scrawny, but completely enamored and taken with everything. I didn't know what to do with you!" He waits for a moment, forming his next thoughts. "I wanted to be there for you, Wes, but I just didn't know how… And I'm sorry if I made you feel that I didn't care for you, because I did. I did, and do, a great deal. And I honestly don't see you any differently than I see Aaron or Saoirse. You and I," he gesticulates. "We have a special relationship and one that I love..."

A smile plays lightly on Wesley's face, "I always knew how you felt. Well, it was a little more obvious how you felt about mom," He smirks. "Everyone knew about that!"

"Oh goodness," I laugh, hanging my head in my hands as I feel Jean Luc wrap an arm around my waist and plant a kiss on my cheek as he himself laughs at how painfully transparent he was.

"Yes, well… uh…" He clears his throat as his hand moves to rub the back of his head.

Wesley just laughs at his reticence. "It was nice, you know, to see how you felt about her. How you still feel about her; even more so now" he finishes more seriously.

"Thank you, Wes," It means a great deal that he feels that way. Somehow, it makes us stronger, more unified.

The moment settles. "Wesley," He disengages himself from me, his voice lowering earnestly as he refocuses the discussion. "Is this something that you'd consider doing? I can assure you that nothing would make me happier."

He matches our gaze with a smile, "I was going to ask you two anyway, before all of this happened… when we got back from France the first time." He blushes. "There just wasn't time to ask, and then, well, you know the rest of the story."

The butterflies that fly around us have found their way into my stomach and pure elation and a sense of completeness settles and pervades the three of us. "Wesley Picard," I intone wistfully.

Wes looks at me, "I like it." He smiles as peace finally settles through him. "It sounds… right."

"Indeed," Jean Luc smiles. "Yes, Wesley Picard. I don't think I've ever heard anything better."

"Well," I reach for Wesley's hand. "Should we go tell Marie and Robert the good news?"

"I can imagine," Jean Luc sighs heartily as he takes his other hand. "That they're going to be delighted."


	142. Chapter 142

**"**What? No!" Wesley laughs, his face turning red. "Did you really?"

"Yes," Jean Luc barely manages through body quaking spasms of laughter.

"No," Wesley quakes again. "No, I don't believe it."

"It's a good thing, Jean Luc, that no one knew that about you while you were in Starfleet!" I wipe the tears coming down my face, "Where did you hold these blessed events?"

He motions to the field surrounding us as we walk, "Here." He looks down and plays with the tall wheat that surrounds our ankles. "I have to say, it was very difficult keeping an eye on two French lops amid this crop, however."

"You're never going to live this one down," Wes punches his shoulder playfully. "Robert was really holding out on you last time!"

"I knew," Jean Luc laughs again, clutching his side amid the cramp. "That I shouldn't have told you about the rabbits."

The house appears in the distance. "Jean Luc?" I stop him, pulling him back; something's out of place.

"Hmmm?" He looks up from the golden aridity crunching under our feet. I feel a squeeze on my hand, "Beverly, what?"

I point to the large house in the distance. "Does something look different to you?"

"What are you looking for, Mom?" Wesley reaches down, seemingly nonchalant, as he gingerly studies an orange Monarch resting on a purple wild flower.

"Beverly, what is it?"

I shake my head. Perhaps I'm just imagining things? "Nothing," I breathe. "Just nerves, maybe."

He tugs at my hand once more as he squints a smile at me. "Come, there's nothing wrong."

**Thanks again everyone! Goodness, last night and all of today I had totally run out of motivation again until I read your comments and it totally rejuvenated the direction of the story. You've given me a load of great direction and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Also, glad to know what you like! So many have enjoyed the last couple of chapters so I'll try to integrate more of that. **

**Linds and Maddie: Thanks a million. So glad that you liked it!**

**Martin D: Thanks so much for the questions and the breadcrumbs of direction - all things that I hadn't thought of but will now be playing with!**

**Mels: Great questions! Now I have some direction to go off of! **

**Max: Wondrous. I will be incorporating some of that in the story later!**

**James J: Love the input and thank you so much! **

**Tess: Thank you. You are very, very sweet :)**

**Dancing Dr: So glad that you liked it :) Means a lot. **

**Sasha: So, so, so glad you liked the bedroom and shower scenes. They were a lot of fun to write so look out for more in the future hopefully! **

**Meg: Thanks a mil for reading and saying such lovely things**

**Mark: Hope your holiday was CLASS! Welcome back and so glad that you've enjoyed everything so far! **

**Alex: Thanks a million for saying such nice things! Can't tell you how much it means. **

**Zack: Here you go! I'll be uploading more into the night!**

**Thanks everyone. I love getting back to each of you so forgive the length of this! Love hearing from you, keep your feedback coming because this is as much your story as it is mine. I want all of you to enjoy it so I'm writing it with you in mind. **


	143. Chapter 143

"I knew it!" I laugh as the house draws nearer. And there it is – what I sensed was out of place: a large white tent covering tables surrounded by what must be at least two-dozen chairs. It's a beautiful set-up that has Marie's name written all over it. I recognize the white linen tablecloths whose edges ebb and flow in the subtlety of the valley breeze.

Wildflowers and peonies fill large vases decorating each segment of the long ensemble. Special colourful plates, delicate tableware, wine glasses, and, of course, bottles of wine lay in wait for what looks to be the beginnings of a very large party.

"What's all this?" Jean Luc beams, his eyes feasting on the same scene.

"Well," Marie walks out of the house, a glass of wine in hand, "It's about time you showed up!" She laughs, "Any longer and I was about to send a search party!"

"What's going on, Marie?" Wesley manages, wide eyed as can be.

Her smile deepens as she looks back in the direction of the house and beckons unseen forms with her hand.

I can't believe it.

Geordi, Worf, Deanna, Will, and Data. And, oh my, I can't believe it: Kathryn, her husband (whose name eludes me at the moment), and the familiar faces of the EMH and Seven. They're all here. For us.

"We wanted…" Will steps forward, but can't finish through the onslaught of emotion.

"We wanted," Deanna finishes for him. "To say thank you and to…" She looks at each of us individually. "To honour you for what you did," she motions with her wine glass. "And for the sacrifices that you made…" She looks back. "For everyone."

I can feel tears stream down the curve of my cheek as I reflexively take the hand of the man standing next to me. "Wha?" My voice cracks through emotion as bewilderment and wonder course through my arteries.

Deanna holds my smile as she raises her glass, "To Jean Luc, Beverly, and Wesley." She waits a moment, "Here's to you."

"To Jean Luc, Beverly, and Wesley!" The crowd mirrors, "Here here!"

"What's the matter, Carrot Top?" Deanna laughs after the silence. "Cat got your tongue?"

I nod my head, not trusting my own voice through the overwhelming sentiment. In a moment, I'm locked in her embrace, "Glad to see you looking so well, Beverly." She whispers in my ear.

"Well," Jean Luc clears his throat and wipes away his own tears of shock. "It's, eh," he laughs in the midst of his own silence. "I'm usually not one to be lost for words!" There's a rumble of laughter at the veracity of his statement. "He's right," Will laughs. "If I had a penny-"

"Oh alright, Will!" Jean Luc blushes as he again looks around. "Thank you all. This… it's such an honour that each of you would come all the way here just to visit us."

"Nonsense, Jean Luc," Kathryn steps forward. "After what you three did and endured… well" She smiles. "That was quite a feat. I mean, you three practically took on the whole of Starfleet!" She looks so different now, I think. If it's possible, she's more beautiful than when I saw her last. She's left her hair long as it cascades in deep auburn, chestnutty undulations past her slight shoulders. Motherhood, I think as I see two babies propped against her husband's chest, suits her.

"Kathryn?" I muddle through a bleary smile. "It's so good to see you."

"You as well, Beverly," her small arms enfold me in an embrace. "You look beautiful," she whispers against my shoulder.

"You know," I step back and regard her petite form. "I was just thinking the same about you."

"This," She takes my hand. "Is my husband and former first officer, Chakotay."

I have to say even the wedding photo did not do this man justice! Towering over Kathryn's tiny stature, he's enticingly riddled with a bevy of charismatic charm. His hair, longer than it was in his photo, allows a stray strand to hang enticingly over one eye. "I would shake your hand," He looks down and smiles at the two drowsy bodies propped against his shoulders. "But uh…"

I laugh, "Say no more. It's good to meet you. Jean Luc and I were very pleased to hear about your marriage," I look at my friend.

"Well," She leans against him and laughs "So were we!"

"Doctor," Data interrupts.

"Data!" I move to embrace him. "Thank you, again," I emphasize. "For everything."

"Might I remind you, Doctor," he automatically squares his shoulders, "That it was Wesley who did most of the work."

"Doctor Cru-Picard," Worf corrects as he too interrupts.

"Worf! It's good to see you, Worf." I regard him, "We've missed you."

"Likewise." He counters austerely. "I am very sorry that I was not able to be of assistance. I only heard about the news not three days ago when I was leaving Deep Space Nine to visit Alexander back on Earth."

"Oh Worf, it's-"

The clang of a glass cuts short our conversation and I'm riveted to Robert's deep, resounding voice. "Eh, welcome to the Picard vineyard," Robert booms from under the tent. "It's so good to have all of you with us, et eh," he laughs. "Before the wine takes its effect and I start talking too much, I would like to invite all of you to come and sit, and," He chuckles with gusto. "More importantly to eat!"


	144. Chapter 144

"Marie!" I look over at her amid the merriment. "How on Earth did you pull all of this off?"

She shakes her head, "I have my ways, Beverly. We had actually been planning this since you came. In fact" she pauses, "It's a good thing Wesley ran off when he did! Robert and I stayed up all night scheming ways to get you three out of the house!"

"Oh?" I smile over my glass.

"Ouis," she nods in response, taking another slice of bread. "And we were totally coming up dry… there's not much to do in Labarre!"

"So, Doctor," my head reflexively moves at the title. Wesley turns to the EMH sitting on his left. "What happened after we transported from the Daystrom Institute?"

"Well," he angles himself. "It was as I suspected all along," a self-satisfied smirk exaggerates his stark smile lines. "Not moment after you three transported," he pauses dramatically, riveting the table's attention. "The artillery moved it, so to speak."

"Wel-" Wesley encourages only to be cut off by the hologram.

"I'm getting there," he gesticulates as he takes on a theatrical air. "Well, after you three dematerialized," he motions to his left. "Seven and I wiped the transporter log. Good thing because not a moment later, the building's main computer came back online."

"Seven," Wesley bends forward. "How were you able to disable the main computer in the first place? From what I could see from the consoles, the Daystrom's computers are far more advanced than anything in Starfleet!"

"You are forgetting that I am Borg," I could have sworn she rolled her eyes! "I accessed the main computer from the hallway console while Vera, Savet, and Jack were," she pauses morbidly. "Otherwise occupied…"

Wesley, though, is somewhat oblivious to her flat Borg affect. "So, what kind of algorithm was it?"

"Sequence-based," she motions with her left hand as if inputting the sequence in to thin air. "The hallway consoles were rudimentary, containing basic information such as layout of the building and simple engineering tasks such as door ground-floor door access codes and light controls. But," an almost-smile pulls at her pale cheeks. "I realized that Voyager's controls had something similar; I knew that embedded within the simple functions of the console was another layer that led into the main computer."

"So, you basically used a variation of the Zoprin Cipher to jump between levels and access the main computer?"

"Precisely," She sighs. "And from there I temporarily disabled building-wide communications and access by locking all doors on the upper two levels."

"I," Robert laughs. "For one have no idea what these two are going on about, but," he moves to stand. "Would like to propose a toast before we get too carried away on these delicious bottles of wine and excellent company."

"Here, here!" Will raises his glass.

"To Jean Luc, Beverly, and Wesley, eh, it's so good to have you with us and we're so, so grateful that you are safe." He looks down to gather his next thoughts. "I must admit that I had no idea how you made an escape and frankly je ne savais pas – eh excuse me," he laughs at his own jumble. "I didn't know just what you were up against over these past few weeks. But, regardless, we are blessed that you are with us, safe, and happy." He raises his glass to us. "To you."

"Thank you, Robert," Jean Luc moves to stand before the conversation continues. "And," he takes a moment to regard our guests, "Thank you all for coming. I have to admit that we…" he motions to Wesley and I. "Are so fortunate to call such a wonderful group of people our friends."

He pauses in the silence as I move to take his free hand. "So much has happened since I left the Enterprise – so much that I didn't even believe was possible." He smiles and regards Deanna. "I think that Deanna can attest, based on _hours and hours_ of counseling sessions over the years, that I never, even thought that I would have a family, _this family_! I dreamt of it, yes, but really how often do the things that we dream of manifest themselves in reality?"

Across the table I see a small motion as Kathryn moves to regard the man sitting next to her. Something implicitly beautiful passes between them as he looks back and takes her hand.

"Uh," he laughs again as he clears this throat. "Until two and a half years ago I felt...lifeless. I was alone, isolated. Can you imagine?" He laughs as he solemnly regards an inconsequential spot on the white tablecloth. "I had a ship full of people, plenty of friends, but in spite of all of it – I was terribly lonely. And then," his voice cracks through a smile as he reorients himself. "Like a phoenix rising out of the ashes, something beautiful came." I tug on his hand and he looks at me. "I was able to admit how much I loved this woman, and I was able to accept happiness. And then," a full smile shines through. "I don't know how it's possible, but my gladness was augmented when Wesley came to live with us and when Beverly bore our two little ones." He stops again and turns to slowly regard our guests. "I know that all of your must be tired of listening to me by now, but" He stops his gaze at Wesley. "I know I must sound like a broken record at this point, Wes, but I am so proud of you. I don't think, in all of my years, that I could ask for a better son, or a better friend."

I see Wesley wipe away his own moisture as he holds Jean Luc's gaze. "I'm so pleased to have gotten to know you better than I ever have, and not be wary or cautious to love you openly or to call you my son. So," He smiles again at the rest of our friends and family. "I promise I'll end this now."

Collective smiles and tears greet him from across the table. "This is to you, my son, I love you, I'm proud of you, and I'm so excited to spend however long I'm graced to have left in this existence getting to know you even better and seeing where this wonderful adventure that we call life takes you." He raises his glass, "To Wesley Robert Picard."

**Everyone, again, thanks so much! I'm going to start working on the next chapter with all of your comments in mind. Let me know if you're liking this and where you'd like to see future chapters take us! Thanks again. -Becca**


	145. Chapter 145

** Hey Everyone! Sorry for the hiatus. I'll try to put up another chapter tonight as soon as I write it! If you commented, I've left feedback and thanks down below. I love and cherish all of your comments and you guys have helped me out a lot when I had no idea where to go with this story. So, your predictions and questions are all noted and believe me - they are coveted as I read them over and over. Thank again everyone and enjoy this next instalment! **

**-Becca**

The sound of his new name resonates and settles amid smiles and looks of awe. For a moment, we're content to let the crickets and the birds sound their mellow applause before a human voice is uttered.

"Wesley," Deanna starts softly with the beginnings of a smile. "Are you changing your name?"

I see his grin from the corner of my eye. "Yeah, I've been thinking about doing it for a while" He shrugs. "But, uh, it just seemed like the right time..."

"Congratulations, Wesley." Data states nonchalantly. "I have often observed," He turns to the group. "That many people find their identity in a surname. I had often observed that Wesley identified and looked up to the Captain, even on the Enterprise. Therefore," he once again regards Wes. "It is fitting that you are changing your name."

"Thanks, Data," Wesley laughs and leans back against the chair.

"Well Wesley," Marie kisses him on the cheek. "Are you sure you want to be a Picard?" She laughs and looks at her husband. "We're a stodgy old group, aren't we?"

I see the crinkle in Robert's eye as he laughs. "Who are you calling stodgy, Marie?!" With another raise of his glass and an exaggerated wink, "Eh, Wesley," He directs. "If anyone asks, tell them you were named after me!"

I shake my head, laughing so hard my sides hurt amid my full stomach. "That's right; I didn't even make that connection!"

"It's fated," Kathryn raises her glass, not quite understanding the situation, but sharing in its joy nonetheless.

"That's wonderful, Wes," Geordi laughs. "Congratulations."

/

The sun is finally setting - later now as we approach summer where the sun won't relinquish it's dominion over the bright blue heavens until well into the night. And even then, it can't be kept away for long.

I love the evening sky, especially in France. Here, the sunset seems augmented, richer. At home, the colours of our dusks are deep and incandescent with rich, intense shades of red and orange. But here, there's something delicate about the way that the colours decorate the sky. The hues are as soft as soft pastels; they're a gentle teasing kiss hinting at an entity far more passionate waiting in the periphery.

A feeling of utter equanimity settles deep in my belly. Marie's brought candles to light the darkening table as we linger, discussing bits of somethings riddled healthily with an equal amount of nothings. The breeze has picked up and in doing so it has fomented and brought with it the smells of the earth after a day of growth and renewal. The heat of the sun, I note, seems to 'cook' the scents of this land together over the course of the day. And at night, the product of that glorious broil is carried on the wind like a platter and can be savoured like a feast in and of itself.

The laughter at the table is encompassed by the laughter beside it – the laughter of babies and children. On our big picnic quilt lie the four little ones surrounded by Renee in all of his boyish youthfulness. What a sight! The next generation, I think; the products of our love and commitment to each other.

"So," I notice Kathryn's gaze has followed my own over to the blanket. "What's the latest news from Starfleet?"

"Well," She sits back, taking another sip of wine. "I couldn't tell you, Beverly."

"Oh?"

"Chakotay and I resigned just before this scandal came out." She sighs tiredly, but not quite melancholy. "It was different when we came back. I remember," she laughs. "When I left and got stranded in the Delta Quadrant, I remember living my whole life around Starfleet. I was enamored by everything it stood for and represented." She smirks as she nudges her husband. "I think Chakotay can attest to that!"

His attention is captivated by his wife at the sound of his name. "What can I attest to?" He smiles.

"How fastidiously I defended Starfleet's principles!"

"Oh that?" He laughs. "Yes that I can attest to – but," he hesitates. "That kept us sane out there – if we hadn't we would have been like Ransom," He looks down. "Or worse…"

"Ransom?" I lean forward as recollection ebbs. "Rudolph Ransom?"

"Yes," Chakotay responds immediately. "Did you know him?"

I sit back again as a pang of sadness hits me. "Yes, I knew him." I remember now. "He was an exobiologist. Brilliant man. I remember him telling me about the ship he was given command of when I met him at the last United Sciences conference, gosh, it must have been, what, three and a half years ago now (?)" But how did Kathryn meet him? "You met Rudie in the Delta Quadrant?" I posit incredulously.

Kathryn moves to smooth the lines of her dress, "We did. Apparently he had been succored in by the same type of array that stranded us there."

"He was in a terrible bind when we found him." Chakotay looks to Kathryn and takes her hand away from her lap. "We saw a lot in the Delta Quadrant," The table is riveted to him as side conversations drown away. "But, I think of all the things – the Borg, the Kazon, the Vidians, Species 8472," He laughs as the extensive list goes on. "Invisible aliens who increase your dopamine levels to inhuman levels," He gestures around his head as if small needles were poking out. "Of all of that, I think that seeing Rudie Ransom and his crew have to stoop to the levels they did out of pure unadulterated desperation – that was one the hardest things we saw and had to deal with."

"So, what happened?" Jean Luc's hand around my thigh tightens as I take it and wrap our fingers together. "To Rudie Random and his crew, I mean."

"I remember," I interject. "That he was given command of a Nova Class science vessel, correct?"

"That's right," Kathryn confirms. "Called the Equinox. Well, Captain Ransom was stranded," she motions. "Like I said, similarly to how we were stranded – by an array. She looks at Jean Luc. "As you know, Nova class vessels are small, poorly equipped and only used for very short term missions. When they entered the Delta Quadrant, his supplies quickly dwindled and the desperation associated with the knowledge that home was 70,000 light years away settled in. They ran out of everything quickly – power, food, ect…- and in light of that they turned to unconventional methods of gaining power and supplies. Most notably by exploiting and killing an endemic Delta Quadrant specie… and that," she looks to her husband.

"Was how they met their end," he finishes solemnly.

"I recall," Data interjects. "That there was a lot of controversy surrounding the remnants of the Equinox crew."

Kathryn nods, "Yes, Mr. Data. A few surviving members of the crew joined Voyager. When we got back," she clears her throat. "Starfleet wanted to throw all of them into prison, but uh, we fought to keep them out."

"Why?" Data retorts naively. "If they were involved in crimes against another species, should they not have been prosecuted?"

"There is a little thing," Kathryn smiles as she sits upright. "That I call leniency and forgiveness. Anyone of us is capable of doing what the Equinox crew did. But, we held tightly to our principles and luckily that same fate didn't befall us."

Chakotay takes the hand of hers that he's holding and lays a small kiss on their entwined fingers. "No," he shakes his head. "Thank you," he whispers.

"So," I smile as I interrupt them. "That still doesn't answer why you're leaving Starfleet."

"Well," Chakotay fixes his gaze, his features warmer now against the dark blue sky and the glowing tea lights. "It's not the same place; we found that as soon as we got back to Earth. But out of a sense of duty, we, uh, decided to stay for a while."

He looks again at his wife as she continues. "They begged us, in fact."

"Oh?" Jean Luc smiles, remembering a similar 'begging'. "I know that one!"

"Yes," She teasingly brandishes her pointer finger. "They said that after you left, interest in the Academy and Starfleet had gone down. And that with our return to Starfleet, that interest might be rejuvenated."

"But," Chakotay continues. "As we got deeper and deeper into the system, we knew something was wrong. But it wasn't until," he gestures to Wes. "This whole incident that we discovered how deeply that corruption went. We still can't believe it."

"So," Wesley angles himself forward in the chair, pushing his wine glass out of the way. "You're still going to leave even though things are going to be changing?"

"Is that terribly selfish of us?" Kathryn smiles. "Yes," She serenely answers her own question as she looks over to the babies on the quilt. "We have two children now and well, we want to spend as much time with them as we can. We want to live our lives away from that type of structure that Starfleet demanded."

"Here, here," Jean Luc smiles. "We," he turns to me. "Made that same decision and it was one of the best we've ever made."

I lean in to kiss him chastely, signaling my own satisfaction with our choice. "Yes," I utter in agreement against his lips.

A yawn from Will breaks the moment. "I'm sorry everyone, but Deanna and I have to be going." He smiles at her. "I'm an old man – I can't stay up as late as I used to!"

"It's true," Deanna rolls her eyes. "Owch!" They laugh. "William Riker, you're going to pay for that later!"

Kathryn smirks at their banter as she herself rises and starts making her way over to the blanket. "Thank you," She regards us. "For such a wonderful time."

"Yes," Jean Luc answers. "It was good to see you again, Kathryn. And I hope that your exit from Starfleet means we'll be seeing a lot more of you. By they way," We round the table to meet up with them, both now carrying a tired baby on their shoulders.

"What are you planning on doing now?" Jean Luc regards Chakotay as he stoops down to gather up Saoirse – who at this point is quickly falling asleep.

"I'm going to go into teaching full time," he responds.

"Oh, in what field?"

"In archaeology; I made some interesting discoveries in the Delta Quadrant that I think I'd like to write abo-" he laughs. "What's so amusing?"

Jean Luc manages, "It's just amusing because I'm an archeology professor at the University of Washington."

"Are you now? I was going to accept a position at…"

"Wesley!" I hear Renee interject amid Jean Luc and Chakotay's synergy. "Wesley!"

"What's going on Renee?" Wesley smirks amid a yawn.

"Veins avec moi! Come with me! I have something to show you that I found today!" He's so excited that Wesley can barely refuse the tug on his arm as he's yanked away.

"We'll be back later," he laughs, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Well Kathryn," Will starts. "It was good to see you again. Like they said, I hope we see more of you."

"You too, Will," she prods. "You know, you've grown up quite a bit since we were at the Academy!" I can tell there's a back story.

"Alright, alright," Will chortles. "Kathryn and I were meant to go on a date-"

"Will Riker!" Deanna smirks.

"Oh don't worry, Deanna," Kathryn placates. "He stood me up."

"Will Riker!" Deanna repeats in the same humorously aghast tone. "I'm sorry, Kathryn. One of the things I've had to teach my husband has been manners," She laughs.

"And what a fine job you've done," she playfully retorts.

"Well, thank you, again." She turns to Marie and Robert who have come behind us followed by Worf, Data, Geordi, the EMH and Seven. "It's so good to see all of you. And thank you, Marie and Robert for hosting such a lovely party…"

"Yes," everyone agrees heartily as they chime in their individual thanks.

More goodbyes are said. The EMH and Seven leave together, returning to her apartment in San Francisco. And Geordi, Data, and Worf return to the Titan.

Deanna and Will are the last to go. "Will," Jean Luc turns to his old friend. "Thank you again for risking everything to help us. I'll never forget it."

"It was an honour, Sir." He moves into embrace his former captain. "Now, let's not make it another eon before we see one another."

"Aye, Aye Captain," Jean Luc salutes in return.

/

The air is again still, but desolate now without the company of so many friends. The variation in temperatures here, even in summer, is something that I don't think I'll ever get used to. How a day can start and end with such a chilly disposition, but be consumed during the day with such oppressive heat is a total mystery. Two warm arms come to embrace me from behind like a warm sweater shielding me against the cold, finally dark, night.

"Did Saoirse and Aaron go to sleep?" I whisper as I lean into him.

"Before their heads hit the pillow," I feel a kiss on behind my ear, goading me to action as I turn in his arms but… something's wrong.

"Jean Luc?" I pull away, turning my head, sniffing the air. "Jean Luc, something's wrong." I don't know what it is, but a sinking feeling settles ominously in my stomach.

"The air." He turns his head, sampling the atmosphere. And then it hits us. "There's something- Oh God, Beverly!"

**Thank you everyone for reading and keeping up with this saga! Much, much, much appreciated. **

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**And to my unnamed Guest: here's more voyager! **


	146. Chapter 146

"Jean Luc! Beverly!" I hear Robert's frantic clamor as the four of us run.

They smelled it too: the burning, the smoke. Maybe they've seen what we haven't. And that in itself is shuddering as sheer anticipation and dread build and build.

A hand yanks me through the angled walls of the house as we follow their path to the back yard.

"Oh my God!"

There it is. My pulse is racing as adrenaline caries my legs faster than they've ever run through the vast expanse of the back yard.

"Wesley! Renee!"

The barn is blazing a fire like none I've ever seen before. There must have been accelerant, because a naturally occurring fire would never have ignited at such a savage, barbarous pace. The flames seemingly reach the heavens and mingle with the stars. They're taunting us, telling us of their lofty victory, their raven heist.

There's no one coming from barn; Wesley and Renee are nowhere to be found.

"Wesley!" I scream so loud that no sound comes at all. Tears don't register through the spasms of emotion as my legs start to fail, my pace slows, and gravity takes its own victory.

"Wesley!" I try again, as if I don't know any other name, or any other word.

The heat is overwhelming and ferocious as it devours everything like a hungry beast. Shards of red and yellow lick at the air, testing us, boasting of their power. The realization that no one could have survived sets in as I sink to the ground. Two arms come and hold me against a solid body that too is shuddering.

The thought of losing our son is unbearable as the both of us quake through utter grief at what looks like an almost certain outcome.

Robert keeps charging at the raging inferno, screaming is own son's name in supplication. Marie, though, like us, has accepted that her son…

My hands dig into the ground, nails filled with fresh, moist dirt as my anguish tears at me and my wet tears adorn the blades of grass. It can't be; it just can't be. He can't be gone. Not after all of this; not after everything that's happened. And, not like this.

Maybe they got out. Maybe they're fine. Saying maybe is a hopeless word, so I'll stop and resign myself to wait. To look. To pray.

I feel his arms leave me and before I can yell or scream, he's running again into the angry flare. Does he see something? Or is he just mad with grief?

"Jean Lu-c!" I pick myself up as I half-stumble, half-run in his and Robert's aimlessly erratic stead. "Jean Luc! Where are you going?!" I grab his arm but he shoves me off, honing in on his elusive and unseen goal.

"Jean Luc!" I hear the desperation in my broken cries. He doesn't answer me; no one does. And then I see it. I see something out of the calescent conflagration. But, my heart sinks in a moment of denial – could it only be my sorrow that's conjuring elusive and taunting images, or is it something more?

**Reagan: I'll write you a script for some benzos :) here you go!**

**Samantha: thank you! You should go to France - just beware of the sultry disposition of the general populace :)**

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**Maddie: thank you! Love all the conjecture! :) **


	147. Chapter 147

"Wesley?"

Out of the settling haze I see two lone figures, one supported by the other, stumble out of the arid, blistering wake.

"Renee!" Robert stumbles forward to clutch his son as his own lungs burn in the heat and the ash.

"Oh God, Wes!" Jean Luc collapses a lanky, tired, staggered figure into his arms. The sheer relief of his being alive topples over me and I cling to the two of them, sobbing in reprieve.

My physician's training urges me to look at the both of them. Burns, smoke inhalation, carbon monoxide – all of them could be present, and all of them are deleterious. For now, however, I'm immobilized by the sheer solace I take from his being with us. I catch a glimpse back at the burning skeleton of the barn and shudder as I imagine the other outcome.

"Wesley," Jean Luc sobs as he stands back and regards his sooty, scorched body. "What happened?"

"I," he coughs and shakes his head. "I don't know." He again clears his throat as we make our way towards the house. "Renee found some kittens in the barn when he got home from school that he wanted to show me." He motions towards Renee, similarly scorched, but I laugh – holding two grimy kittens.

"So," he coughs again and we make no effort to interrupt. "We went to visit the barn and we were looking at the two kittens when the doors closed and we heard them bolt shut."

Robert rubs his eyes as he listens on, still clutching his son. "How did you get out then?"

For the moment, his question is disregarded. "We smelled what I can only liken to something called gasoline."

"Gasoline? The fuel that used to run cars?" Jean Luc is aghast as he and I examine Wesley and Renee in the light offered by the nearing house.

"I smelled it once on the holodeck – when we were on the Enterprise and I ran one of your Dixon Hill programs." He pushes away my searching hands as I look for any burns. "I'm fine," he coughs. "Mom, I'm fine."

"So?" Marie goads, still recovering from her own hysteria.

"So, I knew in the back of my mind that if we tried to make a getaway before whoever it was the lit the fire left, we'd be in bigger trouble than if we just waited it out and tried to get out after the fire started."

"How did you figure that?" Robert asks in the face of Wes' roundabout reasoning.

"Simple," Wesley states, a coy smile playing at his blackened features. "That's how it always happens in holo-movies. You have to wait it out, let the perpetrators think that they've succeeded, and then make your move." I have to laugh, and so does Jean Luc; we never would have thought Wesley would take strategy from a holo-movie!

Renee leans into Wesley as he sets the two yelping kittens down in the grass. "We waited until we could see flames, and the smoke was all around us, and then…" he looks at his father. "Papa remember the hole in the back wall – the one that you keep meaning to fix because you say it lets all the animals in and they nestle in the hay and keep making a mess of the place?"

Robert laughs, "Ouis,"

"Well, we just kicked through it," he finishes simply. "And waited a bit a way until we could make our way around the barn back to the house."

Jean Luc lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens for your dilly dallying, Robert." He laughs, "I'll never tease you about it again."

"Wesley," I start. "Were you able to get a good look at who might have done this?"

He coughs again and shakes his head. "No." He looks back at the still-blazing holocaust. "Whoever did it just closed the doors and left."

"Well," Jean Luc looks at Robert. "We're not safe at the house, not for now."

"Well then where are we going to go?" I'm at a loss. We could go back to Yakima, but we've only been gone for four days. Would the press still be there? Would our presence stir up controversy again?

He rubs his tired eyes. "I don't know, Beverly." He regards Renee and Wes. "We've got to get both of them to a hosp-"

"Dad, we're fine," Wesley drawls. "I don't think we need to leave… unless," he stops as realization settles in.

Jean Luc nods at him. "Unless we're being watched…"

"In that case," I pick up. "We have to go." I hang my head, tired. "But if we're under surveillance we have to tell someone."

The look on Marie's face is a strange one that speaks of pure terror mixed with unimaginable relief. "Is anyone of us safe then? I thought no one knew you were here?"

Jean Luc shakes his head. "They don't," Wesley replies. "But someone could have found out."

"So what should we do?" I find myself again looking over my shoulder. For just a few days, a few hours it seems, the world was a safer place. Now, again, however – it retakes that familiar acrimoniously lugubrious character where every stranger is a suspect and even friends are dubious.


	148. Chapter 148

A rush of air leaves my lungs as I lean over the edge of Saoirse's crib. She's so sweet when she sleeps, I muse to myself. A smile pulls at me as she tosses and turns, a silly grin plastered over her little cheeks. If she were awake, she'd be laughing a dulcet melody that would colour and liven the immovable walls of the house.

What are you dreaming about, Kitten? What do you see? Where are you?

A kiss graces my hair, "Hi, Kitten," his low voice greets as he looks on at her over my shoulder.

"Is Aaron asleep?" I lean back against him, assuming our pose from earlier.

His arm wraps around my waist, holding me to him. "Like a rock," he smirks, his soft breath tickling my ear. "I think these children take after me, Beverly…"

"In the sleep department?" I laugh. "Oh most definitely if they slept through that," I motion to the window. The haze from the fire is still visible even from this window looking away from it. "Have them come yet?"

"Mmm, just a few moments ago," he pauses. "They're in the back right now, spraying the fire retardant on the barn."

"It's got to be just ash at this point," I muse, thinking back to the savageness of the flame and how it just seemed to consume the skeleton of the barn, right down to the last atom. "I'm sorry…"

"About the barn?" He chuckles, breathing in my hair. " Its been in need of overhaul for a while…" His arm encircles me more tightly as he buries his nose in my hair and breathes me in. "That was close, Beverly." He breathes, "too close."

"I know," I agree. "What are we going to do, Jean Luc?" I bend down, loosening his grasp on me as I smooth the back of my finger over Saoirse's sleeping forehead. "I," I laugh. "I just don't know how much more of this I can take! Wesley," I muse. "Wes can take care of himself to an extent, but what if they come after the little ones next time?" I remold myself into him. "The worst part of all of this is that we don't even know who's coming after us!"

"I know," he soothes against me. "I know."

"So," I turn to him, seeing glassy moisture in his eyes. "What are we going to do? Should we go home?"

"Beverly," he pulls me back to him, as much for his benefit as my own. "I… I don't know… I don't have any solutions this time," the window holds a new significance to him as it draws him away from me, leaving me momentarily bereft. "I used to have all the answers. I used to have control." He smirks, an acerbic inflection twanging his voice. "People used to look to me to have everything planned – you used to… well..."

My heart drops as I take his hand. "I still look up to you, Jean Luc. Wes and I both do. And Saoirse," I look back at her, "and Aaron think you're a hero. Well," I turn back to him with a smile. "I'm pretty sure Wesley does too."

A tiny smile tugs at him. "Beverly," he chides.

I draw his gaze away from the darkness to meet me. "Jean Luc," I trace cheek, starting at the base of his orbit, moving down over the maxilla to stop on his strong mandible. "None of this is at all your fault; it's none of our fault. I just…" What else is there to say?

"I know," gentle fingers replace a stray piece of hair behind my ear before continuing their gentle path all the way down through the long length. "Your hair," he changes the subject. "Is so long now." More fingers tangle in the long fibers.

"Oh?" I laugh. "Should I cut it?"

His head shoots up, "don't you dare!"

"Oh, I don't know Jean Luc," I tease. "A change might be in order."

He holds the soft tresses even tighter. "No," he shakes his head with a smile. "You know I almost cried when you came back to the Enterprise after leaving for Starfleet Medical – your hair was so short. Shorter than I'd ever seen it!" He looks back at me. "Of course, it was still beautiful, but I missed the length of it. Sometimes," He smirks as his cheeks flush with embarrassment at the oncoming admission. "I'd, uh, well,"

"You'd what?" I giggle at his reticence, kissing his jaw, prodding him to look at me.

"Sometimes I'd have the biggest urge just to reach out and touch it. To wrap my fingers in it," He messily twirls some more strands. "To bury myself in it; to inhale your scent and surround myself in you anyway that I could." He leans in to me, one hand snaking its way around my waist. I cachinnate as more warm air tickles the baby hair behind my ear as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and bring him closer. "Sometimes you'd rush past me and your hair would hit me straight in the face," he smirks at the remembrance. "And, I know it's silly to say, but it made me want you even more."

"So many fantasies, Jean Lu-" I'm cut off unawares as his lips catch mine before I can finish my sentence. His warmth opens to me, melds with my own, and grounds me. Yes, Jean Luc, I think to myself. I still look up to you. I still need you desperately. Even when you doubt yourself, I'm here to hold you and to remind you of who you are and how who you are is more than sufficient. He starts to move away, but I rend him to me, fastening my hands around his jaw as I hold on for as long as I can.

"…About my hair," I finish, breathless and with a grin.

"We still have to decide what we're going to do," he looks down, stepping away from me and regaining his staid countenance. "We can't stay here with Robert and Marie…"

"No," I cogitate. "I don't think it's fair to embroil them any further."

"What scares me, though," He rubs his eyes, yawning through his next words. "Is that we don't know who did this. We knew, when all of this came out, that there were going to be repercussions to taking on the 'Daystrom Institute'." He laughs morbidly, "We still don't even know what that is!"

"What is the news saying?" Shamefully, neither of us has been paying much attention to the media; we came here to get away and hope that the problem would fix itself.

"They're not saying much," he gestures. "From what last I read, authorities have taken everyone in that 'little black book' into custody, but who knows if that was the sum total of everyone involved!"

"And what about the Daystrom Institute itself?"

He shrugs, "it's been closed. But Beverly," he ruminates. "We both know that the Institute is just a place – it's the people that we're worried about."

"I know," I capitulate. "But what else is there to do?" I remember, "They offered to give us protection and I'm wondering now if we should take it."

"No," he shakes his head. "They offered to put us into hiding. And," He looks at me and pauses. "Do you think that's what we should do? Hide?"

"I don't know," I breathe. "Jean Luc, I just want to go home and not have to worry about any of this…"

"I know," he hangs his head in defeat; we're up against a rock and a hard place. Everything seems helpless when you're in the mindset of a caged animal. "I just don't know if going into hiding is the answer."

"Jean Luc?" I hear voices downstairs.

"What?" He cocks his head, reorienting himself from his own musings.

"Robert is calling us from downstairs."

"Robert?" He calls in return.

"Jean Luc, Beverly-." His voice is faded from bouncing off so many walls on its way to us.

"Robert?" He calls again as we move out into the hallway. "Robert what is it?"

"There are-"

"What?" I beckon back, the latter part of his statement cut off again.

"There are men here to see you."

**Thank you everyone! Now, I'm interested to see where they'll go from here? Hmmm? Predictions?**

**Big thanks to Mark, Lydia, Linds, Mark, Marin, Jordan, the DancingDR, and everyone else who has been commenting! Love hearing from all of you, as always! **


	149. Chapter 149

"Men?" I repeat dumbly at we saunter through the halls. Instantly, in the light of what's happened, dread sinks in. Autonomically, in reaction to novel stimuli or situations, my pulse starts to speed, my breathing turns shallow, and my legs slow their forward pace. For a moment, I try to remember back two and a half years ago when novelty was something we yearned for. Now, however, I'm satisfied with the status quo; I'm fulfilled by days whose newness is only made of Saoirse learning a new word, or Aaron walking.

"Beverly," he looks back with the beginnings of a grin. "It's alright. Come." He tugs at my hand the rest of the way down the rest of the staircase and around the corner to the foyer.

My heart almost stops in relief.

"Gentlemen?" Jean Luc looks almost shocked, as he extends his hand. "It's, uh, good to see you again." He clears his throat. "You're no doubt here because of what happened?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Picard," The shorter man, (what's his name again? Agent… Agent… Cavan! That's it: Agent Cavan) starts. "We're sorry to see you again so soon, but what's happened here tonight has already spread like," he looks down, biting his tongue at his analogy. "Well, word's gotten out fast."

"What are you saying?" Jean Luc redistributes his weight on his feet, placing a hand over his right hip. "Do you know who's responsible for this?"

Cavan smirks, his partner saying nothing. "You've got a lot of enemies out there, Captain. Anyone could be responsible for this."

Something in his tone is irksome, dismissive of the gravity that belies what's happened – what almost happened. "My son and nephew were almost murdered this evening!" Jean Luc rages. "You don't have any answers, only to tell me that the press is going to get word of this?"

"Dad," Wesley comes from behind with a hand on his shoulder. "What's going on?" He regards the two agents. "Gentlemen," he wipes his hand on his shirt before extending it in greeting. "Please excuse us, it's been a long evening."

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Crush-"

"It's Picard, actually," Wesley corrects firmly without hesitation or regard to any of us.

"Excuse me," Agent Cavan corrects. "It's good to see you, eh, Mr. Picard. Eh, we have some news," He returns his gaze to Jean Luc. "That might answer why your family was targeted, this evening in particular."

"Oh?" Jean Luc's reigned in his horns, no doubt calmed by Wesley's presence and softened by his gesture.

"You're being requested by the court to testify on behalf of the prosecution in what they're calling the 'Daystrom Trial'," he looks past us to the sitting room. "Would you mind if we came in?"

"Ooph!" Marie looks aghast, her hands coming up to cradle her morbid expression. "Excuse moi! Certainement!" She closes the door, eschewing the cool night air, as she leads us to the sitting room. A warm hand indicates itself in mine, swathing our fingers together as we sit opposite the two agents.

"Thank you," Cavan starts. "You," he turns to Wesley on Jean Luc's left. "Are being called up as the prime witness – after all you uncovered everything. But uh," he scans us. "All of you are going to be asked to give testimony."

"We knew as much," Wesley interjects. "Is that why we've been targeted?"

Cavan shrugs. "It's hard to say, but I'd assume as much."

"I remember," I interject in the stillness. "That you offered to put us into hiding – is that something that we should still consider?"

I look to Marie. She's scared and it's all over her. I wish that I could reach out to her; I wish I knew what to say. Jean Luc and I have become somewhat used to living in a harrowing state of emotional flux. We lived it like routine for 6 years on the Enterprise.

I instantaneously think back to the times when his life was in danger – Celtris III, Rutia, when he was captured and assimilated by the Borg… goodness the list goes on. And with Wesley, I'm no stranger to the fact that he's well able to get himself into trouble as evidenced by his actions with Nova Squadron, and more recently this. But Marie and Robert, nothing's ever happened to their son; he's always been protected. They know where he is at every moment. At night, they can sleep assured of his safety in the next room.

Cavan meets my gaze, "That's something that you and your family are going to have to consi-"

"Can't they stay here, with us?" Robert interrupts.

Jean Luc is adamant, "No, Robert! It's not fair of us to stay with you. We'll be putting you, Marie, and Renee in danger."

Robert begins to raise his hand in disagreement, but Jean Luc will have none of it as he firmly shuts him down. "Absolument pas, Robert!"

"What are our other options, other than going into hiding?" He looks to me, holding my gaze. "Is there any way that we can go home, return to our work, live our lives…" He pauses, silently revelling in that actuality. "Before the trial starts?"

Wesley interjects, "The press can't have stayed in Yakima this long; there's nothing there!"

"Listen," Cavan motions to quiet the hullaballoo. "If you want to go home, you're fully in your liberty to do so. However," He eyes us. "Just realize that when the trial starts up, there might be a rejuvenation of interest in your family, and you're going to need to be prepared to deal with that."

"But we're still going to be vulnerable," I whisper, gripping the hand holding mine a lot tighter as I go through the litany of mental machinations. "And we still don't know who's responsible for burning down the barn. They're going to find out soon enough that Wes and Renee aren't dead and then…" The eventuality strikes me and tears build at the possibility that next time we might not be as lucky. Next time, we might not have the luxury of old, sodden, and brittle wood.

"Well," Cavan clears his throat. "We can boost security and up your home's internal sensors. But, you're going to have to realize that your lives might never be the same. What you uncovered," He shifts. "Wesley, is just the tip of the iceberg. There are going to be a lot of changes in Starfleet and the Government that not everyone's going to like. And whether you like it or not," He gestures, speaking emphatically with not only his words but his hands and torso as well. "You're the poster child for that change. So, no matter where you are – there are going to be threats… For the time being."

/

"I still don't know what to do, Beverly," a warm breath tickles through my scalp.

"You're still awake?" I chuckle, thinking he'd left me to my own musings and nodded into a deep sleep like he usually does.

"Yes," I feel his body shift under mine as he repositions himself over me. "I can't sleep," a soft hand traces my nose as a smile insinuates itself on my face.

"Why are you smiling?" I don't know, I think immediately; I was wondering the same thing myself.

Oh, I smile wider, that's why: "Wesley."

He smirks, the hand moving lower over the soft skin of my neck, tickling small nerve endings and generating shards of excitement as he goes. "What about Wesley?"

"How eager he was to say his new name." I laugh. "He calmed you when he did that. You should have seen yourself!"

"What?" A wondrously serene grin is illuminated by the brightness of the moon as I admire the man perched over me.

"You were ready to pounce on Cavan this evening!"

He laughs, tickling my stomach. "Jean Luc!" I don't worry about waking anyone; we're alone on the third floor and the beams are solid. "You're going to pay for that," I try to throw him off of me, but he's having none of it as my hand is gently pinned to my side. "Jean Luc Picard! We're supposed to be having a serious convseration," I scold playfully.

"I know," he's mildly mockingly penitent. "I am sorry, Beverly." His arousal asserts itself automatically, wheedling itself between us, making known its own demands.

"Jean Luc?" I smirk.

That mockingly penitent look hasn't gone anywhere. "Beverly?"

"Like I said," my free hand snakes between us. "We're supposed to be having…" I drawl, my arm moving with agonizing slowness down to my goal. His skin is warm, like a radiator. Though his chest displays a rugged, though not overwhelming, tuft of hair, his hips are almost bare. The skin there is smooth and enticing, I note for the hundredth time as I now examine it delicately with the pads of my fingers. I love that every small touch draws tiny goosebumps of anticipation. They come over both of us each time, a small harbinger of our lust and desire for one another.

I keep his gaze trained on mine as my fingers mischievously slide over his boxers, drawing a moan of frustration as I elude the goal. "Oh I'm sorry," I tease as I draw him closer and back up my course. This time my fingers slide under the elastic at the waistband, hitting his erection instantaneously.

I feel his body jump before his hips meld into my own, "Beverly!"

Caught in the moment, I push his off of me and assert my own dominance. But, I smile, not before the white silk nightgown is quickly tossed over my head and thrown aside.

"What happened to that serious discussion?" his breathing's increased. In response, I look up; pretending as though I'm pondering a great thought as straddle his now full arousal.

"Oh that one?" I smirk, my lips closing on his. "I'm tabling it until morning."

**Mels: Thanks Mel, I try to put more of these 'personal moments' in every once in a while! They make it fun to read, I think!**

**James: Thank you! Really appreciate your sticking with the story and commenting and everything :)!**

**Bekkah: I'm just as excited to see what happens! Thanks for reading and sticking with it :) Good to hear from you! **

**Zack: Thank you, Zack! I'm actually dying to know where this is going to end up! Who is really after the Picards, hmm?**

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**Thank you to anyone who I didn't mention - but I think I got all of you! Thanks again, for the hundredth time! Your feedback means the world. Now, what challenges await the Picards back in Yakima? **

**What other things do you, as readers want to see? **


	150. Chapter 150

**Because Martin can't be kept waiting :)**

Hello again, Old Friend, I simper into the darkness. It hasn't been that long; I wasn't expecting you back so soon. Restlessly, I turn on my side, fitting my leg over Jean Luc's well-muscled thigh and laying my head softly against his chest as I hone in on the rhythmic click of the alloy valves. I alight gently as not to wake him while I make myself comfortable.

Ooph! There's that familiar sticky wetness between my thighs accompanied by that glorious dull ache that speaks to a well-enjoyed exertion. I always feel messy after sex. A slight cringe comes over me as I foolishly remember my first time. Jack. I was young and scared; he was rough, selfish as he took from me one posession that I could never reclaim. I roll my eyes. Why does Jack keep cropping up in my thoughts? I usually don't dwell on things...

Now, Beverly, let's be honest: you dwelt upon Jean Luc for over 20 years. And you still do.

No, no, but this time is different. There's something not right about what happened and I can't put my finger on it. None of this is right! Call it woman's intuition, but there's something more here that doesn't yet meet the eye. I still can't fathom how anyone found us. We took such care to slip away with the greatest anonymity. The only people who knew where we were going were our close friends – the ones that came to visit us just this evening. Was it really this evening? Well, I look at the chronometer on Jean Luc's side of the bed – it was yesterday evening now. I don't think it will ever cease to amaze me how quickly things can change. We went from a lovely evening with our friends, celebrating Wesley's news and delighting in old memories, to almost losing Wesley and Renee in a gruesome fire. Everything that I hold dear to me could have be lost in that moment, without any prior knowledge. That understanding causes me to grab tighter to the warm form next to me; I can't lose our children, and I can't lose him.

"Beverly?" A sleepy voice croaks.

"Oh Jean Luc!" My embrace must have been more aggressive than I thought. "I'm sorry," I soothe, laying a kiss over his heart. "Go back to sleep."

"Beverly," His voice is steadier now. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I can't." I mold my face against his chest, inhaling that familiar, comforting, heady scent.

I feel a change in his position as my body is listlessly turned and his fresh, unintentional arousal presses enticingly into my back. The comforter falls away, exposing my bare torso to the cool air of the bedroom. A warm arm, though, winds over my waist, rests on my on the jaggedness of my hip, and a protective hand splays possessively over my abdomen.

"Why can't you sleep?" Tepid air warms my neck and, together with the heat of his body, effectively shields me from the chilliness of the early morning air.

"Jean Luc," I smile, turning slightly to kiss the dimple on his chin. "You're tired. Go to sleep; we'll talk in the morning."

"Beverly," he chides, clearing his throat. "I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

An audible breath leaves my nose as I fixate on a spot on the dark wall, trying to formulate what I want to say without sounding like a broken record. "Something's not right, Jean Luc. It's," Is he going to think I'm crazy? "It's Jack. I can't… I don't.."

"I know," he confirms, in a moment making me feel less alone, less outlandishly bizarre.

"You do?" I turn in his arms, facing him, needing more than just auditory confirmation.

A gush of wind exits his chest, leaving a momentary depression. "Yes. I don't know what it is. We saw him die; I fired the phaser on maximum right at his chest for goodness sake!" The hand resting on my waist moves up, over the curve of my breast to stop on the sharp, jutting outline of my shoulder. "I dreamt, just for a moment, about him." He rolls his eyes. "I can't even remember the dream; it's hazy, fragmented. I just remember feeling that something wasn't right."

I change the subject. "Are we going home?"

"Do you think we should?" He turns the question on me, putting the ball in my court.

"Oh no," I move in closer. "This needs to be a joint decision!"

He smirks at being caught. "I think we should. You?"

"Yes," I sigh. "I love being here, Jean Luc. I enjoy being with Robert and Marie, and giving Renee a chance to spend time with Wesley, Saoirse, and Aaron… but this isn't home," I catch my faux pas. "I meant! I meant it is-"

"No," he shakes his head. "It's not."

I lower my eyes, "It's your home, though, Jean Luc. You grew up here."

"No, Beverly," He shakes his head and closes the last distance between us. "You're my home. Where you are, where Wesley is, where Saoirse and Aaron are – that's where home is. But," he concedes. "Yakima is technically our home. And you're right, while I love being here with our family, it's time we stopped running and got on with our lives."

"You're not afraid?" I ask with a hint of trepidation.

"Yes," he nods, a finger twirling itself playfully through a mussed strand of my hair. "I'm afraid, nervous. I don't know what to expect, but…"

"But" I confirm. "It's home and it's time."

He nods with a reassuring smile. "Yes and whatever waits for us, we'll deal with it as a family."

Before I answer him with my words, I topple him, kissing him soundly as I open his mouth to mine. "I love you, Jean Luc."

A gentle hand traces my cheek, "I love you, Beverly Picard," he sighs. "Let's go home."

/

"So, you're really leaving?" Marie whines almost childishly as we gather our bags near the door.

"Marie," I face her, smiling as I grip her slender shoulders. "Yes. And," I narrow my eyes for theatric purposes, "You know why."

Her figure slumps in acquiescence, "Ok, mais, Beverly, please don't stay gone for too long." She smiles before hugging me to her. "We love having you with us. And," She regards me fully. "If Wesley hadn't been there for Renee, I don't know what would have happened. We're very proud of him," she smiles. "Robert is so honoured that he's taking our last name."

"Really?" I half expected Robert to object!

"Ouis. He's proud of him as if he were his own son. So please," She supplicates. "Don't stay gone for long."

"We won't. Once this whole," I conjure an unseen jumble in the air, searching for the right word for this debacle. "Thing," is honestly and ineloquently the best I can come up with. "Is over, we'll be back. I promise."

"You promise?" She grins.

"Yes, Marie!" I laugh. "What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know," she turns away coyly. "We'll have to see in nine months!"

For a moment I'm dumbstruck, and then the news hits me. "Marie!"

"What's all this commotion?" A laughing kiss plants itself on my hair.

"Marie?" I goad before I say the words.

"Ouis…" A blush creeps upon her cheeks.

"What's going on?" Wesley comes down the stairs with a veritable thud, a bouncing red head in his arms.

"Well," I turn, tears of joy in my eyes. "Marie has some news."

"What kind of news – Ouch! Saoirse!" He looks back from the mischievous little girl. "What kind of news, Marie?"

"Oh you're going to tell them?" Robert chuckles, a baby on his own shoulder, as he ushers through the door a very excited 13 year old.

"Tell us what?!" Jean Luc exasperates.

"Well," that blush that started on her cheeks travels all the way to her pale neck. "Robert and I are expecting!"

"Marie!" I don't think I've let out a squeal like that since I was fourteen. "Marie that's wonderful!"

"Well," Jean Luc looks down, a huge grin plastered to his face. "We definitely won't be staying away very long this time!"

/

"Jean Luc we left the car here, didn't we?" The cool Yakima air is such a welcome respite from the hot, sweltering heat of Labarre. I'd almost forgotten how much I love summer here in the Valley; it's warm, but never hot.

"Mmm," He picks up the bag, trying his hardest not to jostle the sleeping baby. "I think we parked it," He scans the car park, a hand over his eyes to shield from the high sun.

"Oh!" Wes chimes in, pointing to the far west corner. "Right over there."

"Good eye, W-es," He struggles with the bag, the strain hitching in his voice.

"Here, Dad," Wesley exchanges the heavier sac for his lighter one. "I'll get these and Mom can just carry Saoirse."

The town is practically empty on a Sunday. And for that, we're all grateful. There are no signs of the press in the center of town. It feels normal, homey and familiar, as we drive through near-empty streets to reach the house.

"It feels good to be back in Yakima," Wesley insinuates himself in between the two front seats as he leans into the stream of tepid air coming through the open window.

"And," he laughs. "It smells like summer." And it does. There's the faint hint of pine and fresh leaves mingled with wild strawberries that graces the air. So different, I think, to the violets, lavender, and lilacs that we savored in France.

A faint smile lingers on all of us as we take the turn off the main road onto our little driveway. The temperature drops as we amble along the heavily shaded, sonorous path. As is our habit we look on either side, greedily anticipating a view of the deer that live in these untouched forests.

But then, out of the serenity, again comes that gnawing creature that we've become so accustomed to. No, no there's no press here. Yes, the lawn looks a little worse for wear and I'll have to spend the next few days fixing the trampled garden. But that's not what we're looking at.

"Dad," Wesley's voice is still. "Why is the front door open?"

**Thanks again, Everyone, for all the ideas! Alright, I've got a few things up my sleeve that I'm excited to share with you all. Sorry it took so long to get this up; I was getting my 'mojo' :). Honestly your reviews goad me into writing and keep me on track so keep them coming so I don't stray :)**

**Linds: Thank you very much for all your lovely compliments :). Not sure if they're deserved, but they're loved. I'm excited for what's in store too!**

**Sasha: Thanks a million, love! Yes, I will try to work that scene that you have in mind in somewhere! Thank you for keeping up with the story and being so involved. Means a whole lot :)**

**Martin: This chapter is for you, Martin. Because you absolutely can't be kept waiting and I love it! I got your message and I was like "Oh better hurry up!" So, thank you for that. And, I will be working in a few more of your favourite scenes here and there! I got you ;)**

**Meg: Thanks so much for reading and keeping up with this TOME! I know - I really liked when Wesley corrected Cavan and told him his name was Picard. Stay tuned for more scenes like that :)**

**Mels: Can't wait to for you to see what I have in store! Can't tell you how much it means to hear from you. It's much much much appreciated! I hope you like what I've got up my sleeve!**

**Reagan: Yes I have to say again how much I freaking love your name and want to steal it because it's so amazing. Thanks so much and so great to hear from you :)**

**Max: about to work some more Jean Luc/ Wes time in here so stay tuned for that. Always love hearing from you and your comments are coveted so keep them coming! Thank you :) **

**Tiffany: Thank you, Tiff! I think you're going to love what I have in store for everyone**

**Again, all your comments are loved and cherished and I read them over and over to glean more ideas and really shape this story - it's as much yours as it is mine and we're all in this adventure together so don't hesitate to post :) Thank you guys - you're really making a boring medical student's summer (my last summer break EVER) really epic! **


	151. Chapter 151

"What the hell…?" Jean Luc gawks at the house. "Beverly," he turns in a moment of determination. "Stay here with Wes and little ones-"

"Oh no!" Wesley barrels out of the back seat. "I'm coming with you."

"Wesley," Jean Luc reasons, similarly stepping out of the still car. "Stay with your mother." His voice takes on a firmer tone. "This is non negotiable."

I see Wesley from the car; his stance is set, feet firmly planted, shoulders squared putting him at Jean Luc's height, and his brown eyes blaze with determination. "You're not going without me."

Jean Luc moves his gaze, yielding to Wesley's stubbornness. "Fine, but stay behind me, and do as I say!" He crouches back to the car, "Beverly, if anything happens, leave. Just go. Take the little ones and go to Hope's – just get out of here. Don't come in after us."

Panic settles in my stomach as I pray that it doesn't come to that. "Beverly?" He demands again, meeting my gaze. "Please."

All I can do is nod dumbly as we move our collective gaze back to the babies in the backseat. "Hopefully," he sighs. "We'll be right out."

He moves to leave. "Wait, Jean Luc!"

His face reappears in haste. "What?"

"I love you." I have to say it; it's obligatory.

A tiny smile tugs at him. "I love you… Now remember if anything happens…"

I nod quickly. "I know."

Please, God, I beg. If you exist, don't let anything happen.

Fear and anticipation eat at me as I see their figures disappear into the house. If I think it, then it won't happen. If I conjure the images, I'll effectively banish them from existence. I'm anticipating, out of trepidation and my own worst nightmares, the bright flash of phaser fire. But, there's nothing as my eyes move rapidly, trying to follow their collective movements from the windows.

I see Jean Luc move in front of the living room windows. I move up closer in the seat, honing my visual field. The living room, from what I see, is a mess. The cushions from the couch are strewn all over the floor, our paintings hang sideways, and the books from the bookshelf are carelessly thrown every which way. Jean Luc has to raise his legs to step over what I can only imagine is more mess, more carnage. Who could have done this? What were they looking for?

My gaze then moves to the study, where I see Wesley similarly stepping over piles of books and padds. I see him check behind the doors, under tables. Nothing.

Jean Luc moving in Wesley's bedroom upstairs rivets my attention. He does what Wes did: checks under the bed, behind the doors, in the closet. Nothing. Everything is quiet.

Seconds turn into minutes and still there's no commotion. Even the car is silent; Saoirse's content to look at the trees and the sun, and Aaron is still asleep, head lolled off to the side as he dreams in the car seat. My pulse starts to slow; there's nothing.

I'm still waiting though; waiting for them to come out.

Like a silent, benevolent deity heard my prayer, their solemn forms finally emerge from the house. Wesley's shoulders elevate in question as he holds my gaze. "Anything?" I mouth.

Jean Luc shakes his head. "Nothing."

"I think it's safe, Beverly," he shrugs coming back to sit in the car.

"We didn't find anything," Wesley scoots past Saoirse. "But they destroyed the house."

I roll my eyes. "Well it looks like the lawn and the garden aren't the only things that are going to need tending to." My fingers rub my tired eyes, "When are we every going to catch a break?"

"Wesley," Jean Luc turns in his seat. "Do you still have your tricorder?"

"Uh," He leans forward to again sit between us. "Yeah, it's in my room, I think. Why?"

"The tricoder is able to pick up signals…" he bows his head.

"You mean if whoever did this planted something?" Wesley sits back, taking Saoirse's little hand and gleaning some comfort from her childish naiveté.

"It's unlikely, but we can't be too careful." He looks up to regard him again. "We'll have to boost internal sensors on the house. Do you know how to do that?"

"Yeah, I remember doing it on the Enterprise – the house is much simpler." I feel his eyes on me. "Mom?"

I raise my head from my palms.

"Are you okay?" His voice is tentative, laced with concern.

I smile, feigning peace. "Fine, Wes."

His hand snakes around my shoulders as he hugs me against the seat. "We're all scared mom. And we're all tired. But," he kisses my cheek. "It'll be over soon."

I take the hand he's wrapped around my shoulders, squeezing it as I hug it to me. "Thank you, W-"

"Beverly?" Jean Luc's head perks and he turns in his seat as if looking for something. "Was that your communicator?"

For a moment we're all silent, listening for the aberrant sound… Yes, there's a small vibration coming from the back seat. "Wesley would you mind reaching in my bag in the back?"

The swipe of a finger brings the small device to life. "Who is it from?" Jean Luc looks on.

"Kathryn," I look up confused. "She wants to meet. She says there's someone who wants to talk to us."

**Thanks everyone!**

**Linds: Thanks a million, as always :)**

**Martin: Oh, Martin. We shall see, we shall see. I have plans in store! Just you wait :)**

**Sasha: I know :) don't hate me. I just like to see you squirm :)**

**Mels: Thank you thank you! I'm still in the nebulous stages of working the whole thing through. I have some ideas, but more are always welcome. **

**Meg: Here you are :)**

**Enjoy everyone! Can't wait to hear all of your predictions! :) -Becca**


	152. Chapter 152

"Well," Two green eyes stare wide-eyed at the scene. It is as I suspected from the car: a disaster. "Saoirse?"

"Kitten," she calls back.

A smirk plays at me amid what is settling in to be utter desperation at the amount of work that needs doing. "Well, Kitten," I kiss her cheek. "What are we going to do about this mess?"

Her only response is to survey the scene in front of her. It's not much different than what I saw from the car window: the couch cushions are all over the floor, books are scattered every which way, padds lie broken underfoot, pictures hang precipitously crooked…

I'm overwhelmed. Well, "We have to start somewhere, huh?" I whisper rhetorically.

"Book," she points proudly at the floor.

"Too many," I kiss her cheek. "And we have Papa to thank for that; you know how much he loves books!"

"So is that all it said?" I hear Wesley's angling in the study as I bend to pick up the cushions.

"Yes, Wes," Jean Luc exasperates. "That's all it said."

"Well," I can just see Wesley pontificating as I hear him browse the console. "I wonder who it is? Why wouldn't she just tell us?"

"I don't know," He responds, almost listlessly as hardcovers resume their place on the vast white shelves.

"Are you sure having them come to the house is the best idea?" I laugh to myself at how whiny he's getting. But can you blame him? He almost died last night! And now coming home to this…

"Wes," More books and padds hit the bookshelf. "Will you help me with the books?"

"Just a minute," he sighs. "Let me finish modifying the scanners."

"Oh you're doing that now?"

"You asked me to! Oh and," I hear more beeps from the console. "You know, we really should install subunits at every window."

"Okay, but…" I hear exasperation setting into that deep contralto.

Their familiar bickering is soothing; it's a sort of melody that grounds me and keeps me company while I work. Saoirse toddles around amid the fallen books, handing them randomly to me as I try and regain some order to the room. I roll my eyes at the ensuing disarray; my medical texts and padds are scrambled among engineering manuals and archaeology reviews. And what's worse, I'm not even trying to be organized about this; I just want the mess off the floor.

I would be angry if I wasn't so damn tired, or antsy about meeting Kathryn tomorrow. Tomorrow. Sleep. I shudder to think what our bedroom looks like. My head falls into my palm as I rub my face; all I want to do is sleep until this whole debacle is over!

"Well," an arm comes to rest on my waist. "Saoirse," a beleaguered voice starts, looking down at the two year old. "What have we got here?"

"A mess!" I sigh, turning my body in towards his.

A kiss plants itself on my hair line, "it's looking much better; at least we have a couch and a floor now."

"Well," Wesley plops himself down on the newly rearranged sofa. "The computer files were wiped…"

"All of them?" I gawk through the slits in my fingers.

"All of them. Everything that Data sent us from the Daystrom Institute, Starfleet, everything…"

"Oh Wes!" Is that what they were looking for?

His hands rise nonchalantly. "Not a big deal, Mom." He exhales, "But if that's what whoever was here came for, why tear up the house?"

The couch suddenly looks so inviting as I leave my husband's side and saunter over, plopping myself down with a veritable thud. "I don't know, Wes." I laugh. "Do you think Kathryn would notice if she came tomorrow and we just left the house like this?"

"I don't know," Wes shakes his head with a grin. "But I don't know if Dad could handle it…"

"What are you saying, Wesley?" A teasing smile laces his nearing voice before another weight depresses the couch.

He holds up his hands in surrender, "Nothing! Nothing! Not a thing!"

I love my son's smile, I think, as their banter fades into background noise. For a moment, the shambled mayhem circumambient the couch fades, and all I see is the two of them laughing and teasing one another. A little red head patters over to us, using her whole body to propel her developing little body onto the couch. A hand comes up to help her, lifting her bottom up the rest of the way and she settles herself comfortably into her father's side. Aaron bounces energetically in his play chair by the fireplace. Oh, I smile, to be young and so easily amused as these two little ones are. We've had so many close calls – too many, I lament. But somehow, even in the midst of this home – this life – we're still together. Happy. Fulfilled.

"Beverly?" A familiar rumble permeates my fancy.

"Hmmm?"

"Shall we prove Wesley wrong: that I'm not a neat-as-a-pin stoddy old-"

"I didn't say that!" Wesley laughs, Saoirse playing at his attention.

Jean Luc brushes him off as he continues, "ex-Starfleet captain turned boring archaeology professor, and go to bed and leave the mess for tomorrow?"

"Oh Jean Luc," I raise my eyebrow sarcastically. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Well," he muses humorously. "Just this once."

"Alright," I practically peel myself off the sofa. "Was the bedroom as destroyed as the living room and the study?"

Wesley shakes his head. "Your bedroom was untouched. Mine on the other hand," he rolls his eyes. "Was ransacked."

Oh Wesley! What could whoever did this have been looking for? "Wes, do you want us to help you clean it?"

"No," he indicates, picking up Saoirse. "It's late," he motions to the chronometer. "And we should get up early and finish with this before Kathryn comes with her mystery guest."

"We'll put Aaron to bed," Jean Luc picks up the ever-tired little baby, propping him over his shoulder as we leave the living room.

"Ok," Wesley yawns in return. "I'll put this little Kitten to bed." He looks at the door warily. "I upped the sensors. We should be fine for tonight, but-"

"We should, Wes," Jean Luc yawns in response as he takes his advice from earlier: "Tomorrow. We'll put conduits by every window."

The house is still light and rays still bleed in through the many windows, a testament to the never-setting sun of the summer months. But, despite the brightmess, we're tired. My legs feel like leaden weights as we ascend the stairs. I smile as Jean Luc leads the way, continuing to yawn all the way up.

"Goodnight," Wesley disappears into Saoirse's room.

Aaron is practically asleep as we summarily remove his clothing. Jean Luc applies a fresh diaper as I look around the room. Our house, I think. This is our house, but somehow it doesn't feel like it. The surroundings are the same; everything is the same. But it feels different – or at least I feel different in it. I feel like some prized element has been shed – something dear has been lost. Yes, nothing physical has been taken, bar the computer files. But, I conclude, something even more precious has been stolen: our sense of security and peace in our own home.

I hear frantic footsteps outside the door. "Wesley?" Jean Luc calls before he makes his way through into the room.

"Wes?" Jean Luc repeats, laying Aaron softly in his crib.

"Saoirse," Wes goads, his face pale. "Show mama and papa what you found."

She looks confused and pained as she senses her brother's disquiet. "It's okay, Kitten," he kisses his little curls. "Show them."

A tiny fist unfurls, revealing an object still unseen albeit a tiny glimmer over a pink palm.

Wesley takes it from her, holding it up in the dim light. "It's a rank pip."

**Sorry for being so lax today everyone! I'll write more tomorrow- PROMISE!**

**Martin: Thanks a million for pushing me to get this done today! here you go :) Can't wait to hear from you.**

**Linds: For you Linds! Thanks for being my motivator - Don't know what I would do without you, like I've said :). Thank you**

**Meg: Why thank you! So glad you enjoyed the last chapter! Oh my goodness! I love all the questions! So much anticipation - trust me I am just as excited as you to find out!**

**Mels: So many things to work out! So much angst! I love it! I love that you guys are practically writing this story with me - every new chapter is an adventure for me as well! Keep your feedback coming - it HELPS!**

**Alex: Thank you thank you, my dear. I know- who did ransack the house? This is the great mystery right :) thank you for commenting. Love the feedback :)**

**Tiffany: Thanks a million for reading and keeping up - it's much appreciated! So, more Bev and Jean Luc scenes? Is that what you're hinting at, you little minx ;) well I have plans - oh do I have plans... Love hearing from you :) Thank you again**

**Reagan: Ohfavouritenamefriend, I have designs. I get the feeling that you'd like some more Bevs and jean Luc scenes? Hmm? Alright noted. And I've written down your other requests for later chapters - duly noted. But, you know how much I need more goading so keep it coming!**

**Bekkah (how I wish my name was spelled - love the K)- Oh how I've kept you wondering my little name twin, hmm?! I can't wait for you to see how this pans out! Thank you for reading and giving me so many predictions! They help - believe me! :) **


	153. Chapter 153

**Did you think that I abandoned you? No, I just had an exam today and then I had a little trouble getting my mojo back. But, alas, I would not disappoint! Thanks guys for nagging me or this never would have gone up. So a big thanks to Bekkah, Mels, Martin, and Linds. This is for you guys! And a huge thanks to everyone else! I wanted to get this up so I will respond to all of you in my next chapter! Love you guys! Thank you :) **

"A rank pip?" I look up, examining the familiar disc in the dim light. "Kitten where did you find this?"

She looks around, nervous, as if to cry. "Papa?" She looks questionably at Jean Luc.

His face softens instantly, seeing the distress of his little girl as he lifts her out of Wesley's arms. "Let's move into the corridor," He whispers, ushering us out and shutting off the lights in Aaron's room.

"Kitten," He tenderly kisses her disheveled hair. "We're not angry," He soothes, directing her gaze to his. "Can you tell us where you found this?"

"Mmmm.." She struggles ponderously. "Papa," She looks at him with bright eyes as she reaches inquisitively for her treasure. "That." She points, consternation playing at her. "That!" She points to my hand again.

"Here, Kitten," I soothe, placing the shiny disc back in her tiny hand. "Kitten where did you find this?"

"Stairs," she points satisfactorily at the staircase.

"You found it downstairs?" Wesley probes.

She nods her head vigorously before turning her attention back to the tiny pip. "Stairs," she returns her attention to her prize.

Jean Luc smirks and kisses her head. "I don't think we're going to get an 'x marks the spot' out of her this evening." He looks back to her. "Kitten, can Papa take that for now?"

"No," she looks up, tightly fisting the novelty. "Mine," She pleads.

"You can have it, baby girl," I laugh. "But in the morning, okay?" I open her little palm. "Okay?" I confirm, looking into her sweetly inquisitive face.

"Mmkay," she yawns.

"I'll put her to bed," he laughs as he repositions her in his arm and continues down the dark hall to her room.

Where in the hell could a rank pip have come from? Mine? Jean Luc's? As if reading my thoughts, "Mom, are you sure this isn't one of yours or one of dad's?"

I turn the question back on him, "Could it be one of yours?" He wore them too, after all.

He looks down, "No," He sighs definitively. "I had to turn in my uniform and my pips when I left the academy. I came home in civvies. But," He looks at me. " The day that you two came to see me at the Academy, right after you resigned, you were still wearing your uniforms – did you keep them?"

"Yes, but they're in the closet," I turn to walk into the bedroom with Wesley on my heels. "I thought," I rummage through the oversized bureau, "Aha!" I found them. "Here Dad's four." Where are mine? "Oh! And here are my three. So," I meet his gaze again. "That's definitely not ours."

"Well then whose is it?" He throws his head back, exasperated, frustrated and tired.

"Come on, Wes." I take his hand. "Let's sort out your room while Jean Luc is putting Saoirse to bed and we'll talk about it," I tug on his arm, bringing his attention back to me. "Okay?"

He nods, "Okay?"

"I'm so tired, Mom!" He yawns, leading the way down the long hallway to his bedroom. Oh God, it really is a mess. It was already in shambles when we left for the Daystrom Institute. That was the last time that I was here. I look to the right of his bed at the pillow I threw down in desperation when I found out that he was missing. Instantaneously, I look back to him, just confirming that he's really here.

"What, Mom?" I must be staring.

"Nothing," I shake my head. "It's been quite a ride, hasn't it!" I try to laugh as I bend over to pick up his crumpled bedclothes. I try to keep it light, but the truth is that I'm terrified – and that damn pip only heightens my anxiety.

Papers are still strewn all over the floor, pads decorate the bed and clothes are strewn every which way. "Where do you want to start?" I ask, eyes feasting on the maelstrom.

"Honestly," he yawns again. "If we could just clear off my bed, I just want to go to sleep." He blocks out the disaster, "All I want to do right now is go to bed."

Clothes are hung on chairs, papers are summarily thrown aimlessly into piles and soon enough the room looks semi-livable. "Thanks, Mom," his too-thin form gathers me against him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I kiss his cheek. Is it silly that I'm not ready to go just yet? So I linger, just a moment, relishing in the contact that I have with him.

"Beverly?" A familiar hand insinuates itself on my arm.

"Is she asleep?" I turn around, withdrawing just a bit as Wesley pulls away.

Jean Luc moves to embrace his son, just as I did a moment before. "We're glad that you're with us, Wes." He muffles against his full head of brown hair. As if having the same thoughts that I had just a moment ago, "The last time we were in your room, you were missing and we thought we'd never find you." He pulls away, not before planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "It's good to have you home with us." He sighs, "It's good to be together."

"Thanks," Wesley rubs his eyes. "Yes," he nods in return. "It's good to be home."

His hand takes mine as he leads me out of the room, "I love you," Wesley calls back at us. "We'll talk about the pip in the morning. Maybe, Kathryn knows something?" His voice fades as we saunter back down the corridor, quietly past Saoirse and Aaron's room and then into the solace of our own sanctuary.

"Well," suddenly the bed looks so inviting, even amid its rumpled, disheveled state. "Ahhhgghhhh," The pillow and messily arranged sheets absorb my exhaustion just before another weight depresses the space next to me.

"Well, hello," I smirk, admiring illustriously naked, broad shoulders. They're thinner now that I see them in the light – sharper and more defined as I reach out to place my arm around him.

An exhausted face turns to me, "Hello you." As if controlled by magnets, his eyelids are drooping down towards the purple bruise-like spots that line his under eyes.

"Jean Luc?" My body forms into his as one clothed leg wraps around his bare thigh.

"Mmm?" He's falling asleep, his voice fading into the somnolence.

"Nothing," his fatigue sinks into me, erasing all thoughts, fears, concerns, and questions. My body, I smile into slumber, has its own ideas for the evening. After all, I nestle into the warm body next to me, there's only so much weariness and stress that one constitution can take before exhaustion exerts supreme, executive control.

/

"Shit!" It was like slow motion; I heard the word coming out and I was helpless to stop it. We try not to swear now that we have Saoirse and Aaron; we don't want either of them inadvertently picking up base language. I smile to myself, remembering a young patient of mine back when I was in school. I was a young medical student and it was my first week in clinic. I remember it clearly; a young mother came in with her three year old who needed a booster. He was, as I recall, a very vivacious toddler. All I had needed to administer was a simple hypospray, but I just couldn't get him to sit still. When I finally sat him down, after what seemed like hours of nagging, I remember him pouting and saying, "This sucks!" I couldn't believe it! It seemed to me as though just the simple utterance of such a common phrase almost stole his precious innocence. So, from that moment on, I promised myself that I'd control my tongue around Wesley; I did and thankfully he didn't end up learning any of them until he was old enough to have the sense to use them sparingly and appropriately.

Right now though, in this moment, 'shit' is an appropriate term. I don't know how any of us did it – the babies included, but, we've slept well past the early alarm we set and now Kathryn's coming in less than 15 minutes.

"Jean Luc," I tug at his dormant form. I roll my eyes at just how much tugging and heckling it's going to take to get him to open one eye. "Jean Luc Picard, wake up!"

"Unnggg," is all that's muffled in response against the sheets.

"Jean Luc! We don't have time for this!" I Pull at the blanket he's sprawled over, but he makes no response. So, I do it. I'm not proud of it, but instantaneously a loud smack rings out across the walls of the bedroom.

"Owch!" His whole body jumps. "Beverly!" His hand comes up to soothe his aching buttock.

"Well at least you're up," I grumble. "Kathryn will be here in less than fifteen minutes and we've still got nothing done!"

"If your purpose was to arouse me," He croaks, rolling onto his back and blazoning his morning erection. "You've done a good job."

"Jean Luc," I throw errant bedclothes on top of it as I stifle a tiny grin. "Put that away," I should be frustrated, angry with him for not being focused and for dilly-dallying. But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't flattered.

"Alright," He grunts. "But what am I supposed to do about this," He points, smiling at me.

"Jean Luc!" I shake my head, this time not trying to contain my amusement. "Think of something," I motion.

"How?" he blunders over the the bureau and pulls a random shirt out. "You're all I think about." He winks back at me as his head reappears through the collar.

I wish I didn't have to, but for the moment I ignore him. Later, I promise. "Later," Jean Luc. I'm curious, "Aren't you at all worried? How can you even think of making love at a time like this?"

"Honestly," he walks over to me, stilling my movements. "At ease, Beverly. You don't have to tidy; Kathryn won't be coming to our bedroom."

I roll my eyes, "I know, but…"

"This situation," he bends down and kisses my forehead. "Will work itself out."

"How can you be so nonchalant, Jean Luc?" I exasperate against him as he collapses me to his chest.

"Because, we're still together. You. Me. Wes. Saoirse. Aaron. For right now, I'm satisfied with that." He motions around us. "Everything else," He sighs. "We can't change it for now. So, just…"

The doorbell rings, cutting his calm demeanour. "Shit! Beverly!" I can't help but laugh at the 180-degree change in his countenance. "The kids aren't even up!"

"What happened to that calm demeanour, Captain Picard?" I sneer playfully as I run down the corridor.

The kids!

"Wesley!" I yell loud enough against his door. "Wake up!" I don't hear any movement.

"Wesley Robert Picard! Wake up this instant!" I yell into his door.

"Ugh, Mom," He groans, practically falling out of the bed. "I'm up! I just heard the door bell!"

I can't seem to make it down the stairs quickly enough. I cringe at the sight of the remaining mess in the living room. "Coming!"

Screw it. It's not our fault the house was ransacked.

"I'm coming," I call again as I open the door. "Kathryn!" I greet, just before… Oh my God…


	154. Chapter 154

"Ad-" uh, "Admiral Paris?" The shock registering on my face must be comedic, as I stand here, dumbfounded at the open door.

"Beverly," Kathryn's eyebrow cocks as she insinuates herself in the door. "May we come in?"

"Beverly?" Heavy footfall sounds on the stairs.

"Mom, is that Kathryn?" Both voices, both queries, hardly register amid the loud cacophony of questions going off in my head.

"Beverly?" Kathryn meets my gaze again, questing, expecting.

"Uh," suddenly reality kicks in. "Of course, excuse me. Come in." I look around, still aghast. "I'm, uh," What is wrong with you, Beverly?

"Admiral Paris?" Jean Luc's face evinces the same shock as my own. "Uh, it's been a while." He looks about. "We're, uh, we…"

"Please," Wesley walks forward. "Admiral, it's good to see you again. Excuse the mess," He smiles, leading the older man into the living room. "We came home yesterday and the house had been destroyed."

"I can see that," The admiral scans the room. "I'm sorry, Wesley," he looks back to us. "Jean Luc, Beverly, I really am sorry about all of this."

"Can I get you anything, Sir?" Wesley picks a stray trinket off the ground. "Water, coffee?" He looks up with a smile at Kathryn. "Coffee, Kathryn?"

She smirks, "Always coffee, Wesley, thank you!"

He looks back, "Admiral?"

"No," the older man shakes his head. "Nothing for me, thank you."

"Mom? Dad?" He looks back at us on his way to the kitchen.

Jean Luc sinks onto the couch opposite the admiral. "No, Wes, thank you."

I shake my head in response to his query as I settle next to my husband.

"So, uh, Admiral Paris," Jean Luc gestures, "It's good to see you again. Tell me," he looks over. "Uh, tell us what brings you here."

"Jean Luc," he looks pointedly, "Beverly." He sighs and looks down before continuing. "I want to apologize for everything that happened a year ago. I," he fumbles, obviously grappling with what he came to say. "I couldn't help you."

"Couldn't?" Jean Luc posits quietly, "Or wouldn't?"

"Jean Luc," the older man lays out his hands as in offering. "Things at Starfleet were, are," He corrects. "Tenuous. And," he straightens. "In all honesty, I did you and Wesley a favour by not saying anything. In fact," He whispers. "It was all part of a greater plan – one to help Wesley."

"What do you mean?" Wesley hands Kathryn a steaming cup of aromatic coffee as he sits next to her. "What do you mean, 'to help me'?"

"You were getting too close – much too close in your research and you were stepping on the toes of the Daystrom Institute," he takes a breathe to continue. "We knew that-"

"Who's we?" Wesley interjects.

"Myself," he points inwardly. "Admiral Brandt, a few others…"

"Wait, so, I- uh?" Wesley gropes for the right questions.

"You mean, it was all an act?" Jean Luc is incredulous.

"The Academy wasn't a safe place for Wesley. Thankfully his actions with Nova Squadron were egregious enough for the few of us trying to help him to make as big of a hullaballoo over it as we did." He sits back as he settles into tell his story. "There has always been a hierarchy at Starfleet command which I am sure that you two were aware of."

"It was always implied," Jean Luc concedes. "But we never thought anything of it".

"Exactly," Owen motions. "There were the elites – Hayes, Nakamura, Nechayev, Williams," he lists. "And a couple others. But, uh," he sighs. "Well when you two resigned things were starting to come to a head down at headquarters. It was obvious to Brandt and myself that there was something influencing the admiralty. I was of course distracted at the time – I didn't think anything of it." He turns to Kathryn. "We were so excited with the Pathfinder project and we were so exclusively focused on getting Voyager home that the other issues with headquarters faded into the background."

Kathryn picks up, sensing the older man's fatigue. "When we came back, I could immediately tell that things were different." She smirks, "I know it sounds crazy, but Starfleet seemed darker – its halls were furtive, as if they were holding secrets. Chakotay and I, every night after we came home, would talk about it. There were things," she gestures into the air. "Small things, like an increase in computer lock out codes. Places in headquarters that were previously unrestricted had safeties put on them – complicated algorithmic codes that only a certain few had clearance to hold." She takes another sip of her favorite drink, "It was bizarre!"

"So," Wesley leans forward towards her. "What was the fallout?"

"Well," she lifts her hands in question. "I still don't know…"

"It'll be interesting to see what happens now that Starfleet is under investigation." Paris continues gravely, as if still hiding something.

"So, you don't know anything?" I ask, wondering why they came here at all.

He smiles as he continues the story. "I didn't say that. Uh, one night, Reg Barclay and myself were in the building late," he looks over to Kathryn. "It was right around the time that we were coordinating the wormhole that would take you into the Alpha Quadrant."

She nods, "I remember."

"Well," He goes on. "I remember mentioning to Reg that it was unusual that there were so many people at Headquarters that I had never seen. Most of them were either first year cadets, or civilians, who were almost never allowed in Headquarters!"

His eyes wander in recollection. "We were stopped by a group and asked what we were doing there after hours. Of course," his face reddens. "I was incredulous. After all, I worked there! Reg and I were only going to my office.

"We were told that we had to leave, ushered out of the building, and informed that we could return in the morning as usual."

"What was going on?" Wesley gawks, obviously enthralled by the story.

A babies' cry though tells us that Saoirse and Aaron are awake. "Excuse me," Jean Luc starts to get up in response.

"No, Jean Luc," Kathryn raises her hands and smiles as she starts to leave the room. "I'll take care of them."

She finds no argument, as the three of us are enraptured, questions bubbling. "Thank you," I whisper, watching her go.

"Did what you witnessed have anything to do with the Daystrom Institute and the files that we saw?" Wesley asks.

"Files?" Paris reflects inquisitively.

"I'm sure you know of the files that I'm referring to, the ones-"

"The ones you leaked?" Owen recalls. He smirks, "Wesley, you've only uncovered a small fraction of what I think is going to be coming out in the next few weeks if…"

"What do you mean?" Jean Luc posits.

"There are things, Jean Luc, Beverly, that I've uncovered that would make you ashamed of the organization that you've been a part of. Things that you can't even imagine; horrors that I had relegated to history."

**Alright lads - more coming soon!**

**Martin: here you go :) thanks again as always. Keep the nagging coming :) I know - you would have had to send a search party down to Galway and come pounding on the door! **

**Linds: Glad you're liking it! Can't wait to hear from you :)**

**Meg: I got you, girl - with regard to more Bevs/JL moments. I'll work more of those scenes in. Glad you're still liking it, though! **

**Reagan: I hope you like it! Can't wait to hear from you :)**

**Tiffany:Thanks a million, as always love. So, what do you think is going on?**

**Mels: here you are :) So, what's the craic? What's going to happen next? **

**Bekkah: I have preemptively posted a chapter. hopefully I'll pull another one out before the day is over! Can't wait to hear from you :) **

**And to my unnamed guest: Thank you times a million bajillion. I am so glad that you're enjoying the story. It's a fun one to write and one that's also evolving with every chapter. So comments and requests are always in order! Thank you again. **


	155. Chapter 155

His shoulders seem to hunch with his admission and sadness ebbs at his words. "I couldn't understand what was happening," he hangs his head, hiding his gaze from us. "Over the next few weeks, after that incident, more things started to puzzle me. Kathryn said it herself – the halls seemed darker, less what they used to be. So," He sighs, pausing before he continues. "I went to Alynna, asked her what was going on; she told me not to worry, that they were running a few tests. She didn't say what kinds of tests. But, I started noticing that my access to files and parts of the computer was denied after I had asked it. So, I had Reg look into it – he's an engineer and as such he has a certain way with computers-"

"I'm sorry, Admiral," Wesley interrupts his rabbit trail. "But what could you have found? We already know that Starfleet was working with the Daystrom Institute…"

He shakes his head vehemently, "Don't you understand, Wesly? Daystrom Institute is Starfleet!"

"What?" I interject incredulously. "How is that possible?"

He wrings his hands, getting up laboriously to pace the clean floor. "The Daystrom Institute is a cover – an allowance. A way for Starfleet to run secret investigations, experiments that are unsanctioned even by their own precepts!"

"The type of experiments that they ran on Wesley and me?" I look pointedly, remembering with horror what I experienced.

"Yes. That," he concedes. "And much more. They've been working mainly with time – temporal mechanics." He looks to his right. "What you were working with, Wesley."

Wes shakes his head. "Listen, I was working with warp field theory. The only time I was able to," He bunny-ears the air, "transcend time, was under the guise of the Traveller – and he's dead. I haven't touched temporal fields since!"

"You might not have," The Admiral is adamant. "But you were damn close, and the fact that you'd done it once before made you highly desirable."

"Desirable?" Jean Luc's head shoots up. "What do you mean by desirable?"

"For further experimentation. We know that it's within our grasp in the future to transcend time, to work with it like a potter with clay, and change events within it – both forward and backward – to suite a purpose. Jack was obsessed with it-"

"Sorry, Jack? You knew about Jack Crusher?" I'm furious – how could Starfleet have propagated the lie of his death to me and to Wesley for all these years! Well, I shudder, it's turning out not to be the organization I thought it was.

"Jack was behind all of it." He responds.

"But," I want answers. "18 years ago, I was lead to believe that he was dead. Starfleet gave him an official funeral. I was compensated for his death even!"

"I know," he whispers. "I remember. I thought he was dead as well at the time." He looks up; his gaze boring into all three of us. "I hope that you understand that this is as new to me as it is to you. I couldn't believe it when I saw him again. I remembered him so well because he was in a class that I taught many years ago at the Academy. He was," he smiles in recollection. "One of my best students, you," he looks at Jean Luc. "Remember the class."

"Yes," Jean Luc recalls. "I remember – you introduced first year cadets to flying shuttles."

"I kept a minimal contact with him after he graduated. And then news of his death came; he was officially dead according to Starfleet records." The older man sits back down as Kathryn comes back into the room, a baby on both hips. She's so small, I notice, that she looks almost weighed down even with babies.

Aaron looks at us wide-eyed, like he's going to cry out of hunger. Omph, I think: the last thing we need is an angry infant! Saoirse, though, is calm and happy as she looks on at Kathryn, twirling her long hair in her tiny fingers as she's mesmerised by the newness of it.

"Admiral," I rise, relieving Kathryn of one baby as she sits down again with the other. "I'm sorry, but when did…" I run my hand over a warm, soft back – soothing and silently imploring calmness if only for a few more moments. "How did you find out about Jack then?"

"I saw Jack Crusher for the first time since he was declared dead a little over a year ago. He had come into Headquarters. And he was angry," his hands form tight fists as he emphasizes. "He didn't see me, but, I recognized him immediately. Jack hadn't changed. He looked frozen in time – almost plastic."

He did, I think. He looked almost like he had the last day that I'd seen him – when I had to identify him in the morgue.

"I thought I'd seen a ghost. So, I followed him. I kept my eyes on the floor; I feigned ambivalence as I trod behind him." He laughs, "He was so angry and so focused that he didn't even notice me… maybe," his hands move to his midsection, "it was the paunch. But, whatever it was, he just kept going – storming into Nechayev's office. I dawdled outside for a moment, pretending to look at the padd in my hand."

"Did you hear anything?" Jean Luc ventures.

"He was furious. There was a good bit of yelling," Paris looks to Wesley. "He was angry that you were up to leave the Academy. That's all I heard…"

"What?" Wesley's hands rise to his temples to soothe away the frustration.

"I knew something was wrong right then," he concedes. "Seeing Jack Crusher alive and in Starfleet headquarters was enough to make me smell a rat. And like it was intuitive, I knew that I wouldn't help keep you there. I knew I had to get you out."

"Are you saying that Brandt forced me out?" Wesley looks on, his face set with confusion and fatigue.

"Yes," Paris admits. "I asked her to."

**Oh my goodness everyone! So many questions! I love it! You guys are such a huge help to me! :) can't even tell you! I'm off to bed. More chapters tomorrow :) Hopefully I'll get up early enough and get a head start. Love all of you and can't wait to hear your predictions! Thank you :)**


	156. Chapter 156

Silence in the room hangs in the air like a wet sheet. He knew? He knew all along? Paris looks guilty, I note, but still seemingly proud of his deception.

"You knew?" He hasn't spoken much this afternoon, which makes Jean Luc's enraged baritone all the more piercing.

Paris, though, says nothing but to hold his hands up in surrender.

"You knew!" I can feel his increased temperature radiating off his body as he moves to stand in one swift effort. "You knew," his deepening tone sets the heavy, pregnant silence in the room. I don't have to see his face to know that the vein over his left eye is bulging. I don't need to look at him to confirm the angry red flush on his neck and cheeks. I can hear him, though – his breathing is heavy, laboured as he tries to quell the fury bubbling within.

Everyone feels the malcontent, the youngest here included. As if on cue, Aaron starts to fuss, his face becoming red with hunger and anxiety. Saoirse too, nestled against Kathryn, becomes increasingly disquieted. I'm so focused on Jean Luc , though, that I barely register Wesley leave with Kathryn into the kitchen.

"How dare you, Owen?" The octave in his voice keeps rising. "We trusted you!"

"Jean Luc," The older man moves to rise, his posture and the placement of his hands set in appeasement. "What was I su-"

"To do?!" He cuts off as the anger bubbles, seething at the surface. "He was my best friend – Beverly's husband! Wesley's father! And you didn't think to tell us!?"

Owen rises, slowly, keeping his distance as his hands remain held out in rogation. "It wouldn't have done any good to tell you! What would you have done?"

"What would I have done?! Done? I would have damn well protected my family, Owen!" His voice rises with every syllable, his fingers curling inwards into whitened fists. "You should have damn well told us! But you didn't Owen! You lied!" His voice cracks in a display of emotion that I haven't seen. "You lied and my wife…" He's struggling, the words and the possibilities dying on his tongue. "My wife nearly died!" The last syllable dies on his tongue. "And my son was kidnaped and.. tortured!" His firmness is disintegrating, being taken over by the stronger force of grief, duplicity, and remorse.

In the pregnant lull, I raise myself. "Jean Luc," my hand sets itself on his shoulder. To say that I'm not disconsolate, betrayed would be a deception in and of itself. "Owen," my hand slides down his trembling arm to twine our fingers together. He's shaking, volatile. "Jean Luc," I move closer.

"No!" He turns to me, jaw set, eyes bleary and fixed in anger and desperation. "How could he?" He shoots back, stuck in a feedback loop of anguish. "How could you Owen?" He repeats, not gaining and not expecting a satisfactory answer. "All those years we thought you were trustworthy! Of everyone, we confided in you, goddammit!"

Owen is beside himself, shuddering and at a loss of what to say; Jean Luc hasn't lost his power of intimidation. I remember how one look, one slant from Jean Luc – the Great Captain Picard – could settle a negotiation and bring alien heads of state into submission.

"Jean Luc," I whisper, tugging at him again. "Jean Luc," I draw his gaze to me. "Please." The hand enclosing mine tightens, as if to confirm that I'm here – that I'm still with him.

"Owen," I look back, my own gaze firm. "Truthfully, why didn't you tell us? You must have known…" Known what? Known that he was going to try and kill me? Torture and manipulate his son? How could Paris have known any of that? "You must have known that his presence was, if anything, suspicious. Don't you think we deserved to know – if for no other reason than our previous relations to him?"

"I thought," He sinks back into the sofa. "That I was protecting you. I thought that… telling you and involving you might have been worse than just getting rid of Wesley." He meets our eyes. "He was going to be safe here with you. I had no idea…and then when I..." He rubs his face. "I'm so sorry…"

"What, Owen?" I ask when Jean Luc doesn't have a voice.

"I want to make it right; I want to help you – that's why I came here." He concedes honestly, I believe.

A loud breath is released from the man next to me and a warm breeze warms and tickles our joined fingers. "Well, I'm still in Starfleet; I still have a fair amount of access. And, there's a lot of information that I, and a few others, are willing to help uncover."

"You realize," Jean Luc calms. "That the information might incriminate you as a member of the organization."

He nods solemnly. "I know. But, certain things can't stay hidden – and they will if we don't uncover it."

"I don't know how to trust you, Owen," He breathes. "You must have known what was going on in the coming months after you discovered Jack… and still you said nothing…" He pleads, "Not even to warn us!"

"You don't realize it, Jean Luc, do you?" He laughs cynically. "You just don't realize it!"

"What?!" His voice rises to his previous octave – his unoccupied fist clenching again. "What's going on Owen? Be honest!" He shouts, "For once be honest!"

"Everything I said, everything I did – it was all being monitored," He looks over his shoulder as if scanning for an unseen specter. "My home was being watched, my whereabouts trailed. The same with Brandt, Smith, Kathryn and Chakotay once they returned…. Everyone. Jack and the others were going to get what they wanted regardless. They still are. They're still looking, and they're coming back if we don't stop them."

**Thanks as always to Linds and Martin, without whose nagging and pestering I would not have gotten this up today. I had to tutor in Neuro and after that I just kind of died... neuro does that!**

**Martin: I know - you toats mcgoats called this one! Can't wait to see how this develops so your comments are AS ALWAYS needed and much appreciated. **

**Linds: I know I know - not a lot of sucker punching - but I won't skimp on it in the later chapters - promise! Thanks a million for the reminders and the pointers. You know how direly they're needed!**

**Meg: As always I smile when I see your inbox! Thank you. I have plans for some of your favourite scenes when I sit down tomorrow - just you wait. I will dedicate el chapitre to you. But, that does not mean I don't get to hear from you :) **

**Reagan: Why thank you thank you for all the pointers and reminders. So many rabbit trails you've given me. I don't even know - I am bursting with all the possibilities. Can't wait to hear more! **

**Bekkah: here ya go! I can't wait for this story to develop more. It's honestly as much a surprise to me as it is to you! More tomorrow - when I am not staring at the circle of willis and the skull foramina for hours! ( kill me)**

**Headboyprongs: Good to have you with us! Thanks for reading and reviewing. Much appreciated**

**Sasha: Sorry again for my lateness in posting. Hopefully tomorrow I'll get like two of three up as this puppy progresses! It's a lot of work - though. I'll have to percolate on my AM run... so many possibilities. So, opinions? suggestions? **

**Lydia: How the feck are ye? Good to have you back! Glad that you're liking it! This is turning out to be like the most out of control summer adventure that I somehow have to wrap up soon! I will answer all questions and MORE!**

**Love you all. Can't wait to hear from you! Thanks guys. :)**


	157. Chapter 157

"I'm sorry, Owen," My hand insinuates itself warmly over his knee. "But who are you talking about? And Jack," I look to my left. Jean Luc, I meet his eyes, isn't this what we were afraid of? "We killed Jack – that's why we were taken and accused of murder… that's why-" I swallow, burying the sickening metallic taste.

Owen smiles. "Why you were thrown in jail? Why Jean Luc faced the death sentence?"

"Admiral," Jean Luc sits back, a tiny incongruous grin yanking at him. "What's going on?"

The older man settles in, as if to tell a great story. "It started a long time ago. Among a select and high-up few, there has always been a hint of resentment evident between Vulcans and humans-"

"Vulcans and human?" But I thought… "They've been our biggest allies – our strongest supporters since first contact!"

"Yes," Paris gestures. "That's true – in the eyes of some. But," he smiles at us, "You know how Vulcans can be. Their calm demeanor can come off as haughty, proud… A few humans have always begrudged –"

"Well, there's always going to be prejudice, Owen," Jean Luc concedes. "For such is the nature of mankind – of every kind!"

"Yes, Jean Luc." Paris sinks back, raising one leg to sit over the other. "But prejudice is so much more insidious when it's held by those in power – those with the clout to make policy and dictate foreign relations." He rubs his tired face and yawns. "Look at the examples in our own distant past: the treatment of black in post Civil War South, the treatment of the Jews by Hitler; other worlds are no stranger to this – the Cardassian genocides, the Bolian coups…"

"Yes," I yield. "But what does that have to do with humans and Vulcans?"

"I'm just making a point, Beverly. In short, Starfleet, in the last ten years or so – ever since the old Admiralty," he laughs. "Of which Brandt, myself, and a few others are a part of – have been dying off, or retiring a new view has come to pervade the next generation of leaders."

"I noticed that," Jean Luc looks at me. "In fact I think we talked about it one morning over breakfast not too long ago."

I remember. But at the time, I told Jean Luc that he was imagining things. Which, I smile to myself, led to bickering as was our habit over the breakfast table.

"Well," the older man continues. "They believe that we, humans, are superior – that our delegation and our influence over the three quadrants is more morally correct and that our influence should extend beyond the limits that it's at already."

"Is that," I wonder. "What bore this latest Romulan/Cardassian crisis?" That was the true start of our woes.

"That was only a symptom, and the attempt failed – too many got suspicious and Starfleet had to cover its tracks so they blamed a faulty operative in the Cardassian government."

"Attempt?" Jean Luc leans forward. In one word I can hear the litany of ideas spinning in his head.

"To extend human dominion over the quadrants- lessen Vulcan sway as well as Cardassian and Romulan influences; the Federation has been playing both sides in this battle for years now."

"No," Jean Luc shakes his head. "No, it can't be! The Federation has been trying mediate peace between the Federation and both Empires!"

"That's what we wanted you to think, Jean Luc – what they wanted everyone to think!" His face is reddening, an ode to his frustration and overall exhaustion. "Would you really have given your life and service otherwise? Would anyone?"

"You said it's only a few admirals who want to extend control, though. Surely it can't be policy?"

"Jean Luc," He smiles. "It's not only Starfleet. You found the list, you know that this isn't just the policy of Starfleet – the view is widespread even in the government and among Federation Council officials!"

I'm still a bit confused. "What does any of this have to do with Jack?"

"Jack," Paris hangs his head. "I found out, is behind something that Starfleet secretly called the Advancement."

"Advancement of what?" What, I think, could possibly be going on? And what did that have to do with Wesley or me?

"Human advancement." He exhales, "Human advancement – the kind that he thinks people like himself, Wesley, and a few others exhibit."

"Is that what the Daystrom Institute was looking at? Human advancement?" I remember something he said to me: "Jack told me that he thought that he was the next stage of human evolution and that Wesley was a continuation of that. Are there others – others like Wesley?"

"From what Reg and I found on the computer database, there are others. However, it's not common what Wesley is able to do. Jack and the others saw him and other "probands" for lack of a better word, as part and parcel of Starfleet's new aim, which is to take control of the quadrant and eschew Vulcan, Romulan, Bolian, Cardassian, Ferengi, Betazed, and etcetera influences in favour of subjugation."

"Well obviously," Jean Luc sits back and tries to audibly console himself. "They were stopped – they haven't been successful and with the trial starting in a few weeks, motives will be unearthed and the guilty will be brought to justice."

"No," Paris asserts. "What you don't understand is that Jack and the real culprits won't be brought to justice and none of this will be unearthed unless we stop it. This trial is a sham and I think you know that. When Wesley manipulated the warp field all those years ago under the tutelage of the Traveler, he was able to not only transcend distance, but space and time. From what I read in the reports, you were, at that point, ten times as far from Federation Space as Kathryn was when the Caretaker's array stranded her in the Delta Quadrant." He takes a breath before continuing, staging his next words. "Without Wesley and the Traveler's manipulation, it would have taken the Enterprise over ten generations to even reach the Delta Quadrant! What Wesley was able to do was transcend the boundaries of time – and that is precisely what Jack has the rudimentary ability to do."

"So you're saying that Jack can erase the timeline?" We're aghast, terrified by impending his answer.

"He's getting there – and he's getting close which makes what we have to do all the more urgent."

"But Owen," My mind is spinning. I think I should have taken that glass of water when Wesley offered it. "Jean Luc killed Jack – the EMH confirmed his death!" And then it hits me. Jack is a master of deception – he faked his own death before, and quite well. "Oh," I look down, granting my own response before one is given to me.

A strong hand takes mine and tightly meshes our fingers together. "What can we do, Owen? We don't have any influence, we don't have any access… How can we help?"

"You might not have access, Jean Luc," he sighs. "But you do have Wesley."

**Big thanks to all my naggers - you know who you are. :)**

**Martin: This is my preemptive strike: hopefully I'll get another chapter up before bed!**

**Linds: Thank you thank you for my Shakespearean nagging! Alright, stay tuned, I think I have a clear picture of how I am wrapping this baby up! Next chapter: family time! I CAN'T WAIT to write it. **

**Lydia: Thank you Lydia! Whenever I look at your name I don't know why, but I think of a book that I read when I was a kid called Linnea in Monet's Garden or something along that line. I don't know why. Did you ever read that book? I know I am crazy. Seriously good to have you back with us. I got my mojo back today - after a long nap where I dreamt about serval cats and Gates McFadden. **

**Meg: Your favourite kind of chapter is coming up! What? Are you excited :)**

**Reagan: Here you go! Can't wait to post more! Sorry that I've been out of the loop - I don't even know where my brain is these days. **

**Sasha: I know - but Wesley's in on the next chapter. I love writing those kind :)**


	158. Chapter 158

The tile feels cold against the legs, but it doesn't register as I slide down the white wall, holding myself, shaking, as I try to navigate the vast labyrinth of my thoughts.

I don't think I've ever felt as feckless as I do now. Nothing makes any sense, allies are fluid, and what Owen is proposing is too much. Moreover, trusting Owen again is a leap of faith after what happened last year. Intuitively, I understand why he did what he did, and I understand why he couldn't help us – his own family's safety was at risk. But still, so many questions eat at me; so much is still shrouded in mystery.

"Beverly?" A warm voice pulls at me from the other side of the door. "Beverly," there it is again – that same compassionate, lulling tone beseeches me from my desolation.

"The door is open, Jean Luc," I mutter back.

"Beverly," he smiles down at what must be a pathetic scene – his wife folded against the wall like a petulant 13 year old. "I was wondering where you went."

"About to send a search party?" I smile up at him.

"No," he slides down the same wall. Brushing down my arm and radiating his heat onto me, he settles into the same juvenile position.

I'm content to say nothing; I'm happy just to be with him – to draw strength from his mien and allow it to infuse me. My head falls onto his shoulder of its own accord, and he responds automatically by kissing my hair.

"I'm scared." He breaks the silence with a subtle whisper. Me too, I think; I'm terrified.

"I know," I whisper. "Nothing is simple anymore."

He smirks, "Was it ever?"

I pull away to look at him before we both burst into belly- aching laughter. Because, what else is there to do? "I love you," I cackle, even amid the tears of frustration meandering paths past my nose and down my cheek.

A warm thumb brushes under my eyes to absorb the warm saltiness. "I love you," he counters softly, turning my bout laughter and my bitter amusement into a moment of tenderness where, like a moth to a flame, I am hopelessly drawn to him.

I think I'll always be surprised at the newness I feel when I look at him; when I touch him. Maybe, like I've always said, it's because I spent so long wanting him, so long lusting after him, so long needing him.

His warm exhalation warms my lips, tingling small nerve endings, and building my expectancy as his hand moves to brush a stray piece of hair out of my eyes.

It's not romantic or overly sensual: making out with my husband on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. Nor is it the right time, with too much happening and so much to deliberate. But, for a moment, to urge to be a part of him and to feel his confirmation is overwhelming.

Lips meet and fit together, but tongues stay separate. This is not the kiss of a lover – it's the kiss of a friend.

"Ahem," A certain mousy-haired young man insinuates himself in the moment, breaking it and starting a new round of laughter. "Really you two? The bathroom?" He cachinnates. "Is no room in this house sacred?"

"Not a one," Jean Luc keeps my gaze, that lately-forgotten laughter and merriment dancing in grey-green irises.

"I should have known," he shrugs, sliding down the adjacent wall, his long legs splaying out in front of him, bumping Jean Luc's. His own smile lingers, "Aaron and Saoirse are sound asleep." He looks out the door, "I just looked in on them."

Jean Luc yawns, "I'm thinking that's not a bad idea!"

The yawn is contagious, spreading to all three of us and reminding us of our fatigue. "It's 1600 hours," Wes looks at the chronometer on the wall. "I'm inclined to agree…." He turns back, jumping on the elephant in the room. "Do you think Paris is telling the truth?"

"Do you?" Jean Luc counters immediately.

"I don't know," he shakes his head, rolling his eyes behind closed lids. "I think it's reasonable after what happened in France. Everything that he said sounds like the truth... And unless there's a 'third level' to this whole plot and Paris is really trying to deceive us…" He laughs morbidly at that alternate possibility. "I'm inclined to go along with what he's planning."

"Wesley, no." I'm adamant. "You're not going back to San Francisco – you're not going back to Starfleet." I look to my right, "We'll go. We'll try something else."

"There is nothing else, Mom!" He argues, drawing his right leg into his body. "I just want this to be over, once and for all. Then Dad and I can go back to UW, he can go back to work, I can continue my degree, you can go back to the practice, things can be normal again, and we can try to put this behind us," He's exasperated, looking at us pleadingly as his eyes hop with so many possibilities – so many distantly favourable outcomes. "I'm willing to go through with Paris' plan just for that."

"But you don't know how to do what he's asking, Wes. And if even you did," He's emphatic – not wanting to chance the poor outcome. "The risk would be too great. No," He shakes his head in an effort to put his foot down. "I agree with your mother."

"Well," Wesley shrugs again and rolls his eyes. "Too bad. I'm doing it anyway. It's the best we've got."

/

"Is this ever going to end?" I whisper into the darkness.

Jean Luc's steady, even breathing behind me tells me that he's fallen into torpor, a plummet I wish I could take myself. His hand hasn't moved from my abdomen – it's stayed still, strong, and steady against the silk of the nightgown.

The two legs bumping mine haven't stirred for the last hour. No, I sigh, it's just m-

"Eventually," his sleepy voice murmurs into my hair.

"You're awake?" I turn myself against him until my breath intimately warms his face. Jean Luc Picard, I grin: Master of the Unexpected.

"I can't sleep," he smiles. "I didn't want to talk to you, though-"

"Oh, company that bad?" I cut him off with a laugh.

"I wanted to let you sleep," he breathes back. "I thought I was being courteous."

"I can't sleep," I mirror gravely.

"Are you angry?" The question is pointed – as if he's been mulling over it for a while.

"Angry?" I repeat, still ciphering the meaning. What is there to be angry about?

"Yes. Are you angry?" He asks again, allowing me to figure out his implication on my own.

"If I really thought about it, which I haven't, then I would say…" I move back from him a bit in an effort to think. "Yes, Jean Luc, I'm angry."

"Me too," He props himself against the pillows. "I suppose I'm angry that Owen is using us. I know, well I understand," He rolls his eyes. "I'm beginning to understand, but that doesn't make it right." He pauses and looks at me for a moment in the moonlit darkness before he movies to brush a portion of matted curls away from my cheek. "I can't remember, were things on the Enterprise this complicated?"

I draw my leg into my body and bump his thigh in the process. "I'm trying to think," I close my eyes. Q, yes Q was complicated – but not like this. Spatial phenomena, they were what they were: predictably unpredictable. Devolving, well that was something new...

"I'll take your silence as my answer," he smirks as his hand moves down to settle on my knee.

"No," I swat him. "I'm thinking… yes. Jean Luc," I look up from his chest. "Things were complicated but now things are different because it's our family – not our crew, or our colleagues."

"Yes, you're right," he looks at me for a long while. "If you knew this was going to happen, would you have still done it?"

"Done what?" I notice an almost bitter hint to his voice.

"Would you have married Jack?" There's the crux.

I look down again, avoiding his piercing gaze. "Would I have done it?" I repeat. "No." I answer honestly. "But," I look back. "If I hadn't…"

"Wesley would be here, with us, regardless… He's an old soul, Beverly – some people were always meant to be." He smiles, redirecting my gaze to meet his.

"Would you – what about you, Jean Luc – if we'd gotten married you maybe never would have been captain of the Enterprise. Would you have resented me for that?"

He shakes his head, laughing at me almost. "Resented you? Would I have chosen the Enterprise over being your husband? No." His hand moves to cup the sharp lines of my cheek. "But our life would have been different, and to be honest, I like it the way it is."

I hold him to me. "Me too." Yes. For all the hardships and the frustrations that the recent month has bore, I still wouldn't trade it. I wouldn't trade my son, I wouldn't trade my family, and I wouldn't trade this man just as he is.

"Do you think Paris' plan will work?" I change the subject as the tracks of my thinking jump along perpendicular lines.

"Wesley," He lies back. "Is capable, I believe, of doing almost anything. But," He draws me against him. "So is Jack. Paris wants to use Wesley as bait to lure Jack, corner him, and expose the Advancement program before the trial starts…"

"Do you think it will work?" I ask again, hoping that at least he has the answer.

His sigh warms my hair. "I hope so."

**Thank you thank you again for nagging me to get this up! You guys are the bomb. **

**Reaganomics: Here you go! I know - so many questions and so many answers coming soon! Aghhh! My head is spinning with all the possibilities.**

**Maximillion: Here you go! I hope you like this chapter**

**Megling: I'm getting into your territory - hopefully I'll have at least one more before we wrap this baby up!**

**Lydia: I have actually never seen Dr. Who. I can't cipher out what the hype is but a lot of trekkies seem to love Dr. Who! Enlighten me maybe? I can't find anyone who can!**

**Martin: Here you go. I preemptively struck and posted a chapter for you! So, whaddya think? -Becca**

**Linds: Here you go! Thanks for nagging me! I hope you're having a super relaxing sunday! **

**Sashsters: Goodness I am becoming so lazy in these last dog days of summer before school starts... but I did get a chapter up today after I took a nap and watched the Hobbit. Yes - that is how exciting my life is. **

**To my unnamed guest: Thank you! So glad you're in on the story! :) Hope you like the latest chapter! -Becca **


	159. Chapter 159

A relieved exclamation ebbs from across the bedroom.

"What?" I look over my shoulder.

"This," he holds up a third phaser. "It's where I left it."

"Jean Luc," I turn back, circle the bed and sit on the edge closest to him. "Are you bringing that with us?"

He nods without looking at me. "We're all going with something." He states plainly as if I asked about the weather.

"Jean Luc," I shake my head. "You know we aren't going to be able to transport with phasers – they're always picked up by transport security." The thought of more trouble brings a shudder. "We don't want to draw anymore attention to ourselves."

"Beverly," he chastises, winking at me. "We're being beamed to Starfleet – we're not transporting through Yakima. And we're not going during normal working hours – our transport is being handled by Owen." But there's that extra twinkle in his eye. "And," He winks. "This phaser," the small device fits neatly and unassumingly in his hand. So small, it's unlike any other model that I've seen. Standard Starfleet phasers border on the definition of bulky. Effective, yes, but they are cumbersome and at times unwieldy. "I got on Tremus 8 – it's not detected by transport security scanners."

My hands flail in the air of their own accord, "I should have known!" I smile. "You think of everything. But…" the thought of bringing a phaser is unsettling. "Do you think we're really going to need them?"

"Well," he straightens, addressing my properly. "I certainly hope not. But I did learn a thing or two after all those years as a negotiator…"

"And that would be?" I smile.

"Always have a contingency plan," He kisses my cheek before setting the small weapon on the night table.

I pull back and look squarely at him. "You mean if…"

"If," he picks up. "Our suspicions of Owen Paris are confirmed. And more importantly – Jack and whatever else waits for us."

A shudder runs down my spine at the possibility. I pray to that unseen deity that I've become so accustomed to beseeching in these past months: Please, let this be the end of the deception, the end of the trouble. But a small part of me, that bedeviling officer half of my brain, tells me that perfidy is always a possibility when the stakes are so high.

"Beverly?" A warm heat source brushes against me, rustling the messy blankets on the unmade bed. "Where are you?" He smiles, and introduces bright blue to green-grey.

I shake myself out of the stupor, forcing my lips into a smile. But, nothing passes him. "Beverly," that soft voice whispers. "We've gotten out of dangerous situations before, we'll…" Not even he can finish that sentence. Yes – we've gotten out of situations before. But, it's like I told him last night: this time it's our family. So he finishes with the only consolation that he can offer: "We'll do our best, and trust and hope for the rest."

"Yes," I grab that warm hand lying across my thigh. Yes, that's all we can do.

Laughter sounds from the other side of the window, drawing both of our attentions and riveting us to that familiar source of glee. Saoirse and Wesley's mingled amusement. There she is, running happily through the verdant, aromatic lawn chasing Wesley who's running half heartedly to evade her tiny grasp.

So much love, I think, as I grasp that hand tighter, a warm chest pressing into my back as we admire our beautiful family. He's laughing with her, playfully taunting her as she races him. Lips brush my scalp, sending that delicious tickling feeling down my spine. Concurrently, amid the joy, an ache settles and tinges the moment. What if we never have this again? What if today ends and he leaves us?

"We can't lose them, Beverly," He feels it too. He knows.

"I know," A hot burning sensation forces my eyes, making them feel as though they're going to explode with sorrow and despondency at the million tiny, unforeseen yet harrowingly tumultuous possibilities.

In a spit second he moves to me, and I stir to meet him. My chest crushes against his. My breath mingles with his. The saltiness of our disquiet and our overwhelming love for our family melds into one coalescent solution. Silently, I promise myself that this is the last time that I cry. The tears, I think, only fuel my hopelessness and deepen my fears. So, I pull back, quieting myself and willing the deluge to still.

"We'll be back," I say in binding contract. "To sleep in this bed. To make love feverishly until neither of us can move," I smile.

So does he. "It's been a while since we did that," A hand moves down from my shoulder to the small of my waist, tickling the small nerve endings and sending anachronous shards of desire and lust down to my core.

"Yes," I look down before matching his gaze again. "Too long."

"But we will," He mirrors my promise confidently. "And we'll have to force each other to be quiet so as not to wake up _Wesley," _He emphasizes his name, promising that he'll come home with us.

"Yes," I look down, not able to contain my laughter. "But I'm already pretty sure he has an idea of what goes on in here…"

"Mmm," He laughs. "And now we've made the poor boy paranoid about every other room of the house!"

"If he only knew!" I wink with one hand holding his against my waist while the other snakes a trail up to the sparse, short hairs that adorn the back of his neck.

"Indeed," he whispers, his lips moving closer to mine and claiming them as his own. Just these moments, I think, as my tongue moves with his. These moments are what I love, what give me strength, what move me and goad me. Yes, promise myself – we'll have more of these.

/

"Beverly!" The door flies open and with a force disproportionate for such a small woman, Hope crushes me against her. "Beverly, we've been so worried!" She breathes. Sensing the turgidity in my form, though, she pulls back. "Beverly?"

"Hope," I hold her limply as I stand back.

"Beverly?" Her tone's changed as she looks past me, seeing Jean Luc and Wesley with Aaron and Saoirse. The meaning dawns on her. "No," She looks back. "Not again."

"Please, Hope," I beg. "We have to go and…" I look back at the two sleeping babies. "But," I correct. "We'll be back."

"I suppose…" She starts, eying her husband.

Gregg comes to the door but stays silent, already anticipating our needs as he moves to take Aaron. "We won't ask any questions, but," He winks back. "We're expecting a full debriefing when you get back." There's sureness in his voice – one that strongly urges us not to stay away.

"When?" She asks.

"Tomorrow," Jean Luc says. "Hopefully tomorrow."

**Melsface: So sorry to keep you waiting, pooperdoo!I felt so bad when I got yer message :) Here ya go! Perhaps tomorrow I can actually finish this saga, eh?**

**Martinator: I'm so sorry, Schmee, that I didn't give you a name last time! Thank you thank you for goading me on, friend!**

**Linds: I shall see about this other story. Hmm? PS: I'm still coming to steal your cute little Jethro**

**LydiaSchmidia: I know. I don't even know what the whole Dr. Who thing is about. No one has been able to explain it to me. Oh well - it's most likely best because I get too fixated on things... which might be bad for me going into 3rd med?! **

**Megling: Yes, I shall get more scenes like that - at least one before I wrap this baby up. I'd like some more fluff because it's the best to write. I just have to get over the angst hump and then we can move into more of that :). What else should I throw in here?**

**Maxfactor: I don't even know! I have to work all these things out! Ahhhhh! So much for my small brain to process and my mind is exploding with what's going to happen. These next like two chapters are going to be a challenge... **

**Reaganomics: I know! I love this name for you. It's also a bomb economic outlook that I fully support :) Listen, I need some more questions. I've hit a wall :(**

**Sashsters: Oh goodness, you are the nicest person EVER for writing me such a nice long note. Hmm the story that you are proposing would be a lot of fun - I shall just have to find the inspiration and the time. I feel like all my good talent went into this one and now I'm fresh out. Maybe when I get bored with school in a few weeks and I'm craving distraction I'll start that one! You seriously are so lovely. Thank you. **

**To my unnamed guest: Thank you. I really appreciate that you like the way that I've written the characters. I've tried to keep them as much in character as I could - Jean Luc especially. He's a hard one to write, and getting to "know" Beverly and keep her in character has been a bit of a hurdle in and of itself. It's nice to know that you like the way that it's going and you enjoy the dialogue. So, Thank you it means a whole whole lot. **


	160. Chapter 160

The closing of the door behind Hope and Gregg is stark in its character of finality. We're going, it means. And we might not come back.

"Are you ready?" Jean Luc's gaze sweeps to his right as we turn our backs on the large stone home.

The lanky, skinny young man he calls his own son looks back, a shade of trepidation and not bravery discolours his cheeks. "I guess," he whispers. "I don't really know what to be ready for…"

I've always considered myself, Jean Luc, and certainly Wesley to be a little reckless and not a tad fearless. I think that's a trait of all Starfleet personnel in some way or another. We do outrageous things: we live in space for years on end, we brave impossible odds, we battle species so unlike our own. We live and die for an ideal. An ideal that, I fear, is quickly fading, if it hasn't already faded.

"Here," his father hands him a phaser, only to garner a questing gaze in response. "Take it, Wes."

"Dad," He tentatively traces the familiar grey armament. "Is this necessary?"

"Young man," a smile forces its way onto his cheeks. "Must you always be so difficult?"

The smile is contagious as it leaps its way onto Wesley as he grasps the grey weapon. "Aye, Sir."

"Beverly," He reaches back and takes my hand only to replace it with the same grey device. "Keep it on you," his eyes scan my billowing top. "Keep it concealed. I don't want Paris knowing how skeptical we are, though," He laughs, pocketing his own small device. "I think he has an idea."

"Where are we transporting from?" Wesley finishes stowing the bulky phaser and looks up. "Not from here, right?"

"No," Jean Luc settles in the car again, closing the door. "From the park."

Hope's driveway is long and with each meter covered, anticipation builds. "Why the park?" Wesley insinuates himself between us from the backseat as we pull onto the open road. "Why not from the house?"

"Because," Jean Luc regards him in the rearview mirror. "It's neutral and I didn't want Starfleet records to indicate that we transported from the house."

"What time?" He sighs, not wanting to do this as much as the rest of us.

"Twenty minutes."

"Jean Luc," I turn to him in a last moment of panic. "Are we sure this is a good idea? We have no idea what we're walking into."

"No," he switches his hand on the old-fashion wheel. "This is certainly not good idea-"

"But," Wesley cuts in, still sitting between us. "There's noth-"

Jean Luc pivots his body, taking his eye off the road momentarily, as he ruffles Wesley's messy brown hair. "Wesley, Beverly," He addresses us both calmly. "We don't have a choice. If we don't at least try this isn't going to go away." He breathes deeply as he refocuses himself. "Wesley, I don't know what is going to happen. Paris hasn't told us much of anything, but I don't want you doing anything impulsive. Don't leave your mother or myself unless I tell you to. Don't-"

"I know, Dad," He hangs his head.

The car ambles its way to the lot in front of Whitlow Park. With the turn of the old key he again turns his back to his son. "I love you, Wesley," he smiles. "Whatever happens this evening know that. And know that I am proud of you and that nothing has brought me more joy than being able to be your father and your friend."

A warm hand takes mine and tangles our fingers before he brings their combined warmth to his lips. "And I love you, Beverly," His gaze matches my own. "And we'll keep those plans – that's a promise."

Not a moment after we arrive in the center of Whitlow green, a shower of blue – that accustomed old haze – pulls apart atoms one by one before depositing them back in those old, familiar halls.

There's that familiar secondary sense of disorientation before the cool air associated with those sterile marble walls brushes my nostrils, bringing me back two years to where this all began.

"Good job, Owen," A cool, dolefully acquainted tenor rings through the room. "Well," a sharp face looks up at us. "It's good to see you again Johnny," He snarls.

He hangs his head, shaking it with the melancholy associated with his fears and anticipations being recognized. "Jack."

**I'm back! More tomorrow. Now FFnet is not allowing me to see all your lovely messages for the last chapter but rest assured, I will respond to what I have in tomorrow's chapter! **

**Sorry to keep you all waiting! Thank you guys. **

**Reaganomics: Loved your last note! I know so many things hang in the balance and I'm excited to see what I'm going to write. I have a rough idea outlined, but I'll figure it out tomorrow morning**

**Tiffers: I know, get excited. Tomorrow I just might wrap this up and erase all anticipation! Maybe... If I'm feeling benevolent. **

**Linds: We all know it's just a matter of time until Jethro pulls a Homeward Bound and makes for the green coast of Galway :) Of course you'll just have to come with him**

**Martin: I don't want you to die! No! Okay I will not keep you in anticipation like that anymore! **


	161. Chapter 161

"Don't look so shocked, Son!" Jack leers up at the transporter pad. "Although," he looks down with the beginnings of a grin, "I'm rather surprised to still see you here."

For some reason my hand, foolishly and unconsciously, has found its way to my side, resting on the obvious outline of the phaser. "Oh, Bev," His eyes shift as he holds out his hand. "I was going to say, you don't need that here," He laughs. "It won't work anyway. In fact," A hand motions to a pale, sickly looking Owen Paris. "Why don't you hand those over to Owen? I'm sure you all have one."

"Beverly," Jean Luc removes a phaser similar to our own as he gestures for Wesley and I to do the same. "Why don't you hand Owen your phaser." His own gaze hasn't moved from Jack.

Reluctantly my hand moves under my top, disengaging the weapon from its holster Wesley does the same. Jean Luc hands his over first – the large bulky weapon – the double, a decoy for the one still concealed. "Wait," his hand block's my path. "What's to stop us from killing you right here Jack?"

He chuckles, pacing the base of the pad. "Johnnie," he smirks. "I think you know that I come just as prepared as you: Interrupting Frequency Dampeners." His hand moves in a circle as if to trace the pattern of the dampener field.

"So, uh…" Owen steps forward. For a moment, I'm angry, furious even that my suspicions about Owen Paris were confirmed. Now, though, I'm just focused on getting out of here, and in truth I almost feel a little sorry for him.

"Jack," Jean Luc steps nonchalantly from the pedestal, sizing up his former friend. "You had us all fooled."

"Wasn't that hard, Johnnie!" Jack laughs, jovially slapping Jean Luc's back. "I bet you're wondering how I did it."

"No," a hand moves to his chin, rubbing it contemplatively. "I know how you did it."

"Oh?" He laughs again. "I should have known nothing gets past you, Johnnie. You always were the best and the brightest. Tell me, though," he pauses. "How did I do it?"

"Playing to your own flattery?" He eyes in response as Paris sheepishly takes the bulky weapon from his outstretched hand. "Holography, Jack." He capitulates. "That's how you did it."

"Yes, well," Jack palms. "You have to admit that it was rather ingenious. And, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of praise here and there," he punches his arm. "Does one's conscience good. I'm sure you received no lack of platitudes when you were _Captain of the Enterprise,_" he finishes dramatically.

"Conscious? His tone is laced with sadness. "Do you have that anymore, Jack?"

"Beverly," he looks over to me, ignoring the question. "Looking rather scrawny these days." His eyes voraciously size me up like they did not too long ago. My stomach starts to churn emptily as acid rolls over acid, burning through the muscular tissue and surmounting physically set confines.

I know that if I speak, I'll sound helpless. My voice will crack and tears will threaten. But I promised myself earlier at the house that I wouldn't cry. That I wouldn't give into the fear or the loathing. So, I'm content to stare and pray that Jean Luc, like he always had in the past, has a plan this time.

"Tell me, Johnnie," His eyes rivet back to Jean Luc. "Is she still terrible in bed? Shy, unassertive, lays there like a-"

"Jack," His self-control slipping, Jean Luc moves to pummel him, but is held back by men swiftly emerging from the shadows. "You son of a bitch," he writhes against his constraints.

"Calm down, Johnnie!" He laughs, looking back at the chronometer behind him and sighs. "We're wasting time. Come, son," he motions to Wesley.

Wesley moves with a practiced ease and agility belying the fear that I see hidden underneath a brave exterior. "I'm not your son, Jack." His sigh is heavy with fatigue. "I think I told you that."

"Oh?" Jack grabs him around the shoulder, as a friend would, as they start to walk. "Really?" He laughs.

More men emerge from the shadows, two coming up to the transporter pad to escort me from the room. "Owen," I breathe walking past him. "How could you?"

"I'm sorry," he looks down at the floor, almost truly repentant. "Please, I-"

"Johnnie! Beverly!" Jack calls from ahead as men shove us forward and Owen meekly trails.

Gleaming marble welcome us into familiar Starfleet headquarters. It's eerier now when it's dark and deserted and the click of our shoes against the sterile floors sends lonely echoes off the heavy walls.

"I was sorry," I hear Jack begin. "That our time a few weeks ago was cut so short."

"Oh?" Wesley plays along.

"You know I had big plans for us, Wesley." He explains, leading us down a second set of corridors. "I believe that you can help me."

"Help you how?" He moves away from his body, gaining a better look at Jack.

"Well, I think you know that, Wes." He sighs plaintively. "I've tried everything! So many, Wesley, oh there were just so many… but none like you, son. No, none like you. You," He turns to him. "You're special - like me. Bruce, the others, he – they've tried but they can't explain it; what is it? An entity? Something in the environment? Is it genetic? We…" He pauses his pontification as he keys in another door code. "We still just don't know."

"And what about last time?" Wesley asserts. "You must have found something last time?"

"No! No!" Jack shakes his head vehemently as lights illuminate the dark room. "We didn't have enough time, Wesley!" He's emphatic, crazed as he paces. "Don't you see it? We're the next stage! We're better, more evolved!"

"What are you saying, Jack?" Wesley whispers, his voice not deceiving his confidence.

Jack turns back to him, gripping his shoulders. "Starfleet. We're behind it. You and me. You showed us that when you were young – your ability to manipulate space and time. We're the next race of humans that they're trying to breed! Think of it, Wes!" A devious wonder spreads across his features in his barely coherent tirade. "Super humans, transcending warp! Think of all the places that we could go – all the worlds we could conquer! The Romulans," He smiles. "Cardassians! Ferengi!"

"Jack," Wesley mirrors. "I can't do any of that anymore – not without…"

"No!" Jack interjects, taking Wesley by the arm and forcing him against the brightly lit console against the wall. "You can!"

"Jack," The doors to the room open. "Jack." A familiar figure stalks past us.

"Bruce!" His eyes light up at the sight of the recognizable silhouette. Bruce Maddox. I remember Bruce. He came on board the Enterprise from the Daystrom Institute on advisory of Admiral Nakamura to dismantle Data. He was cold, unfeeling, and plastic - almost like Jack in retrospect.

"Bruce I'm so glad you're here!" Jack turns, holding Wesley to the console. "I'm sure you remember Captain Picard and Dr. Beverly_ Crusher_." His snide use of my old name, a name that I was cursed with for so many years, haunts me – brings me back to an old version of myself; a cut off, isolated, lonely person. I look to my right for reassurance from the man standing next to me. I'm sorry; I want to say, for all of this because I can't help but feel the substantial onus of guilt on my shoulders.

"Johnnie, Beverly, I'm sure you remember Bruce."

Jean Luc looks up and for a second I watch him carefully – he knows something. "Commander," he pauses, his collar catching his eye. "Or is it ensign now?" He gleams.

A coy grin advances over Maddox's synthetic cheeks. "What were you doing in our home?" Jean Luc demands.

"Oh Captain," he drawls with an elegant gesture. "Just having a look around." He responds elusively.

Bruce's attention, though, is riveted to Jack before he can finish. "Bruce, help me get Wesley set up. And then," he looks back at me with a grin. "We'll finally dispose of these two and start our work."

**Lydia: Finally got your lovely note! I think ffnet hates me because it's been rather pesky with me lately! Thank you Lydia :) I was so out of inspiration for a day while I was catching up on Royal Pains and then I was tutoring (which always drains my mental energy). Listen, do you watch Royal Pains?**

**Mels: Sorry darling! Here you go. Don't want you to be antsy! I hope that this doesn't make you antsier! Oh goodness - no we would not want martin or you or anyone to go into PC withdrawal after this one hits the end. But, ugh what would I write about - the picards on the Enterprise? Jean Luc and Beverly falling in love? Tons of angst, then resolution, and the plenty of sex and adventure? Hmm. I could do it but it would be such a slow process because third med starts in two weeks and look at how long this young'in took! This out of control TOME. **

**Martinator: Man oh man! I think you might have to come to Galway and like force me to write. I got slightly addicted to the show Duck Dynasty the other day and then ffnet wouln't let me log on... It's been a temperamental few days. Let me put it that way... Are you going to go into withdrawal when the story ends? Mels is under the impression that I am going to have to IV-line you with more PC story lines :). I'm flattered that you like my story so much. It has been a fun little summer saga, eh?**

**Meg: Is Paris bad though? I don't know... I'll have to keep you guessing on that one... hmmm? I can't wait to hear your predictions for this chapter. I still need to work out a scene for you in the later chapters - you know the ones that we all like. And then I'll dedicate it to you as my final act of PCness. **

**Maximillion: Agh! I don't know. I think that I am flat out of PC inspiration after this one goes in the complete bin. A lot of people want me to write something with the Picards on the Enterprise... I don't know. Perhaps in the future when my inspiration comes back... hmmm? I'm going to need ideas though for that one. **

**Linds: Because you begged and I was due for a new chapter. Seriously, though, Duck Dynasty is amazing. I don't know how in the name of God they eat that shyte but it's fun to watch. But goodness gracious can you even imagine skinning those frogs? I would have a heart attack.**


	162. Chapter 162

"What's our plan, Jack?" Wesley remarks coolly, carefully studying the console, touching controls seemingly at random.

Men hold us and watch us as we watch them. Maddox moves about on the opposite console, arranging data that neither Jean Luc nor myself can understand. I want to reach for him, take his hand, and moor myself to his staid solidity. Since we became friends – since we fell in love – just being with Jean Luc, in the same room with him, has been enough. For years I contented myself to find fulfillment and satisfaction in the small touches, in the occasional looks and furtive glances. Coming close enough to hug him was an event, but just being close enough to feel the heat roll off of his body was special in and of itself. However, since that night when he put that ring on my finger, the night when we first made love, I've felt a craving for him – his body, his touch – which I've never felt before with anyone. His flesh is a part of my own – I'm cleaved to him and him to me. Now, simple proximity seems like desolation – one that's only filled when my body touches his.

If he has a plan to get us out of this, or if Wesley has one, I'm not aware of it. Owen told us that we were coming here to help uncover Advancement – to lure Jack and subsequently apprehend him. He did not, however, tell us that we would be ambushed again. And now, I'm not sure of what's happening. I feel helpless just standing here. I can't say anything; there's nothing that I can do and I'm almost afraid to move.

Jack has proven to be choleric, sociopathic, and delusional. I wonder to myself, all those years ago – did I see it? Was it there all along? How could I have been so blind? Why, when Jean Luc was right in front of me, would I have turned him down and willingly given my self to this monster? Was his deception really that proficient? Was I really so stupid? So naïve?

If Wesley can't pull off the insurmountable – if he can't manipulate those fields again like he could when he was younger, then his life is also in jeopardy. And, I sigh; here we are again – back where we started at the Daystrom Institute. Jack and Maddox have no qualms about killing, and to them Jean Luc and I are useless. What's more: we know too much.

Owen was right about one thing. If Jean Luc, Wesley, and I are absent to testify at the trial, the evidence will be dismissed as circumstantial. Starfleet will prohibit Will, Deanna, Data, and Geordi from testifying – they'll send them on an away mission right before the date to assure their absence. Jean Luc and I will be dead – our deaths made out to be an unfortunate, freak accident. Wesley will be detained, or injured, or drugged, or hidden. Jack and Maddox – not to mention every other liable, scheming party- will see to it.

My heart rate is starting to speed and I can feel my pulse jumping from my wrist at all the possible outcomes. My gaze shifts rapidly around the room as panic starts to ripple through my soul. Wesley is at the console, still focused – manipulating foreign keys with practiced alacrity. "Jack, would you mind adjusting the Balting Graform to the fourth frequency?" He looks over at Jack, almost bobbing for approval.

Wheels of thought start turning and puzzle pieces start falling into place: he's cooperating? Why? I look quickly to my right again; Jean Luc doesn't look phased by Wesley's behavior. Instead, he remains calm – like a man who knows what's coming. Well, Beverly, I inwardly roll my eyes: that's nothing new. Jean Luc has always been calm under duress. Remember Rutia? Even Kesprytt! Dammit – the man never cracks!

"Exactly, Son," Jack smiles at Wesley. "Don't you see – now don't things go so much smoother when we work together?"

"Maddox," Jack looks over his shoulder and Wesley increases the frequency of his keystrokes. He's up to something.

"Jack?" Maddox responds, not looking up from his own console.

"Take care of those two, would you?" He looks back and flashes a lusty smirk. "You know what to do."

**Linds: Welcome back to SC! Hope that you had the craic on yer trip :). Gahhh I just got the Phil Happy Happy Happy thing! They are such riots on that show. I don't even know what to do with them. I kind of want to go hang out with them though.. even though I would feel like a fish out of water. I'm only on season 1 though. But it's a riot and I don't think I've ever laughed so hard at a TV show. PS: I love that you are hating Jack. I didn't want him to be likeable here. **

**Martin: I've got a plan, my man. I know - Jack is such a villain. I don't think I've ever written one before, but it's been fun. But stay tuned. I'm in a mood this evening so I might post more! What?! Merry Christmas! **

**Lydia: YAY! You watch Royal Pains! Listen: Are you not so looking forward to Divya and Jeremiah getting toether. They are such a cute couple and I can't wait until he tells her that he loves her. I am hoping that is the season 4 cliffhanger. It would be amazing and I would jump for joy. Listen, Wes and Jean Luc and Bevs - I've got plans that you're going to like. You're in good hands here. **

**Meg: Listen girl, I've got you with regard to our scenes. When this is all said and done - we be in 'bidness. Don't worry girl. I have a plan. And I will of course totally let Jack learn about the name change! Epicness. Just you wait. **

**Mels: SO MANY IDEAS I LOVE YOU. Thank you Mels! Alrighty, I will have to look into this. It would be more of a comedy than this one, but with a good measure of Drama mixed in. Good stories always come when I am under duress from school and should be doing other things - so wait for that this fall. I might write in between study sessions. That might be a good idea. Hmm.. Let me percolate. But listen, I am not a Q fan just because I can't metaphysically factor Q into the Star Trek Universe. I don't know what Q is and his existence fecks with the whole Star Trek paradigm. But, other than that - I will see what I can do. **

**To my unnamed guest: Thank you dear! I really appreciate it and love that you're keeping up.**

**And to everyone else who has been sticking with the story - would love to hear from you guys. I respond to everyone so don't be shy :). **

**Alrighty has anyone here seen Iron Jawed Angels? I have a minor obsession with it and if you do too - we need to be friends. **


	163. Chapter 163

Fiery Hot and icy cold - two dichotomously uncomfortable extremes to be experienced at once. I feel warmth pulsing through my body – the kind that blazes, fizzles, and then settles out only to begin another tortuous cycle a second later. And then there's the cold sweat that's pooled on my lower back, just above my trousers. I'm not a stranger to this type of awareness; it comes often when uncertainly presents itself. I can remember feeling like this before my board exams. I remember this terribly succession churning almost constantly before Wesley was born. I was terrified about being his mother – would I be a good parent to him? Would he grow up to be a good person? And I remember it again, more recently, before Saoirse was born – when we learned about her heart defect. But now, in this eerily suffocating room the sensation returns to gnaw at me with a new and unprecedented ferocity.

Wesley still has his back turned, seemingly ignoring us. I watch him carefully, his hands still move at a hurried pace, as though he has a specific mission. Seemingly, he's carrying out Jack's instructions – being complaint. Foolishly, we never talked about any of this. We assumed that our mission would be clear-cut. We all assumed that Owen Paris would be faithful; after all, his demeanor at the house had almost completely convinced me of his integrity and his desire for redemption.

"Well, Doctor, Captain," Maddox's abnormally thin lips curl into wily smile. "This way, please." He nods at the men holding as he heads toward the doors.

I take on last look back as I'm pushed forward by the men on either side of me. Why, Wesley? Why aren't you paying attention? Something's wrong, I think. Terribly wrong – unless he knows something I don't. My gaze sweeps to Jean Luc as my eyes travel back to the path in front of me; he's completely calm. While the blood in my arteries boils with uncertainty and sheer terror at what I can only imagine is my death – an exquisitely painful one if Jack Crusher designed it – Jean Luc is serene, completely nonchalant as though he were taking a walk through our garden.

Unconsciously I struggle against the restraints binding my hands and arms. The force of the large hand confining my upper bicep tightens, perceptibly leading to a bruise. The cold marble corridor opens to us again and ushers us into the cool solitude. Heels click and echo off the solid green walls. I can hear my own breath as I try to calm myself.

That coy smile adorning those slender hasn't moved. "Don't be so nervous, Doctor. Jack tells me you've been here bef-"

In the blink of an eye, phaser fire erupts, lighting the dark halls. Maddox falls immediately before the men on either side of us drop as well – all stunned, none of them dead.

"Jean Luc, Beverly!" A familiar husky voice resonates off of the green wall marble. Before I can register what's just happened, a flash of auburn draws me back to Kathryn's small form rushing towards us.

"Kathryn?" I look beside her with even more disbelief. "Chakotay?"

"Beverly," Jean Luc looks back to me, easily breaking his meager restraints, before reaching under his shirt and taking out the smaller weapon he concealed earlier this evening.

"Take this," Kathryn bends down stripping the phasers from the guard's holsters and slapping it quickly into my hand.

"What?" My hand automatically grasps the heavy firearm as my eyes trail the three of them in disbelief.

A warm hand grasps my upper arms. "Beverly," his warm voice pulls me from a shocked stupor. "We've got to go. Are you alright?"

"Mmm," I look at him and nod imperceptibly as a tiny grin implants itself on my face. So he did have a plan. But why the hell wouldn't he have told me?

"We've got to get back," he looks back down the hall we came from. "To Jack and Wesley."

An urgency takes over and I'm shaken from my stupor. "Wesley," I repeat following his gaze down the corridor, landing on the doors we came from.

He starts running, but I pull him back. "Jean Luc," my voice finds its footing. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later," he starts moving again. "We've got to go."

"Beverly," I feel a small hand on my shoulder. Kathryn moves close to me and smiles, "I'm sorry about all of this."

All of what? "Kathryn," I slow my gait. "What's going on?"

"We wanted to make it believable," She replies ambiguously as she picks up her pace, causing even me to have to scurry in order to keep up with her purposeful pace. "Let's just hope," She eyes me as her husband takes her free hand. "That this is the end of it."

**Apologies lads! I've been busy writing letters to residency programs (eek!). Anyhow, glad you're all still nagging me. Makes me feel loved. **

**Thanks to Martin, Linds, Tiffany, Sasha, and Debby (You know who you are) for all the reminders. ;) I'll respond to ye in my next chapter. **


	164. Chapter 164

"Wait," Jean Luc stops mid step. Quickly turning behind him, phaser already primed, "How do we know we're not walking into a trap? That Jack isn't still using holography?"

Chakotay lowers his voice automatically as if to avoid being overheard. "We deactivated the building's holoemiters. Everything," He motions around us. "Is cut, bar the signals for Kathryn's and my own communicators. We thought it prudent to keep some communication lines open."

Jean Luc nods appreciatively. "Good thinking." He turns to continue towards the door, but like a string is tugging at him, he pulls back. "Beverly?" His voice is low, smooth, and placating. I think, deep down, he knows that I'm furious with him. He knew all along that there was a bigger plan in place – yet he deemed it sufficient not to tell me. We've never kept secrets in the past. Why would he start now when the stakes are so high?

I don't respond, I simply meet his gaze with angry eyes. His hands come up in surrender. "We have to go," He whispers before he turns back and continues his feverish pace back to the door we came from. For a moment, all I can think of is how much I can't wait to hear him try to explain this away later.

Chakotay's long legs reach him in two paces. "Are you ready, Captain?"

I feel Kathryn take my arm. Kathryn for some reason she deems it necessary to extend some modicum of comfort to me. When I shrug her away, though, just before the door opens, I think she understands why; I'm tired of being considered the victim, by myself and by others; I don't need anyone's pity. More than that, I'm frustrated and truly at the human brink of exhaustion.

I steel myself again to face Jack as the grey hydraulic doors slip open with that characteristic hiss.

Robotically and out of trained habit, my fingers manipulate the phaser, programming the highest setting and pointing the weapon out away from my body.

Jean Luc and Chakotay move in front, obscuring my initial view. I hear the console, though. The smell in the room hits me – musty, smelling of a body too long lingering.

"Bruce," Jack drawls, his back still turned to the door. "Did you take care of them?" He laughs as he continues his work. "I hope Beverly didn't suffer too much. I would want that pretty face t-"

"It's over, Jack," Jean Luc booms.

A brief silence settles over the small room as Jack's shoulders slump. My eyes dart to Wesley, who has a small self-impressed smile planted on his face as he moves towards us.

"You son of a bitch," Jack sneers at Wes. "You son of a bitch."

Wesley's smile grows as he throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Blood isn't always thicker than water, Jack. What can I say?"

Jack's neck veins are bulging as his respirations increase – telltale signs that he's flesh and blood and not comprised of complex photonic wave patterns like he was the first time. "Well, Johnnie," he leers at Jean Luc. "You got me again."

"Jack," He breathes with a distinctly palpable air of melancholy. "What have you become?"

For a moment, silence reigns as the two stare one another down. But then, Jack smiles and a sense of uncharacteristic calm settles over his mien. "Put that phaser away, Johnnie. You and I both know you don't have the heart to kill me." He laughs, "You always were such a sentimental fool."

Jean Luc looks down contemplatively at the small weapon in his hand. "You know, Jack," he exhales. "You're right." I hear a small beep coming from that little phaser. For a moment, just a small moment, I think he's given up. But then, with the speed of a cat his arm extends and his finger depresses the fire button, hitting jack just above the heart. He'll bleed out – it won't be quick, but it'll be quick enough. "But," He shouts as the phaser blast hits him. "You threatened my family, you bastard."

His body careens against the console with such a force that I can hear the crack of several vertebrae. His face registers shock, horror as he hits the carpeted floor with a solid thud. Muffled cries and blood spurt from Jack's mouth like a fountain. His chest heaves with the weight of exertion as he tries in vain to gather enough oxygen. We round his body, our own eyes now confirming his death as we register an end to our woes and all the atrocities that have been committed under this man's blithe direction and approval.

He raises his arm, his eyes trained on Wesley. "My son," he gasps, reaching out to him.

"No, Jack," Wesley shakes his head as he kneels to his level. "No. I'm not your son. I've never been your son. And now, no one will remember you, Jack. No one will remember your name. Jack Crusher," he breathes. "Everything about it will be erased from history."

His eyes dance with frustration, "You…" he wheezes. "You…have…my… name."

Wesley smiles and shakes his head as he speaks the final message Jack's mortal ears will ever register. "Picard," He smiles as he smoothes matted hair. "My name is Wesley Robert Picard, and you're nothing but a distant memory."

And with one last look of consternation and defeat, Jack Crusher passes from this life. My flesh and bone fingers on his cooling neck no longer register a pulse. His eyes, though, remain open as they blankly stare into a deluge of regret.

"He's dead." I announce, dropping my weapon beside the body near the encroaching pool of blood.

The room hangs still and silent. Nothing moves in the building. No one makes a sound until I hear the soft exhalation of warm breath leaving Wesley's nose.

He stands, not taking a look back. "Let's go home."

**Thank you to everyone who nagged me - you know who you are (martin -I'm sending vibes your way.) Now, let's see if Becca can keep on track and not leave y'all hanging for ages! Thank you everyone! **


	165. Chapter 165

"I'm sure," Peripherally I sense hesitancy in her voice as I ascend the stairs of the transporter pad. "I'm sure you'll be hearing from us in the near future. Jean Luc," she hesitates again. "I'm sorry about all of this…"

My eyes dart to her as she and her husband manipulate the controls on the console. "Home?" Chakotay asks absentmindedly.

"Yes," Wesley answers before Jean Luc. Home is about the only word he can fathom. Home, family, safety, and rest – those are his mantras. He's tired and it's all over him from the near emaciated shoulders, the slump in his spine, to the dark circles under his eyes. Jean Luc too, and I suppose myself included – we're all tired.

"Thank you," Are the last words I hear from a brandy smooth voice before the beam systematically disassembles each of our atoms before replacing them back in intimately familiar and warm territory. Home.

I should be elated; it's finally over. Jack is dead. The program has been shut down. Guilty parties have been recognised and are being brought to justice. And, we're free. Jean Luc, Wesley, Saoirse, Aaron – we're all safe. But I have this niggling, itching, scratching feeling of frustration that's seething through my every pore. I'm angry as hell with my son and husband for not telling me whatever the hell plan they had back there. They must have had a reason – that's what I keep trying to convince myself. Somehow, though, that banality just isn't cutting it this time.

"I'm going to bed," Wesley yawns as he shuffles up the front yard. "Don't wake me up." It's the first time any of us have spoken to one another since we left San Francisco.

I dumbly watch his form disappear into the house before I follow suite, leaving Jean Luc alone in the yard.

He knows I'm seething so he doesn't follow me. He doesn't try to take my hand, or apologize, or stop me. He lets me go. It hits me as I climb the rough-hewn stone steps to the front door that this is the first time that we've fought. Yes, there was Caldos. But this is different; my fiery temper hasn't bitten him since we were aboard the Enterprise.

The house is still in shambles – a far cry from the comfortable order it usually finds itself in. Books are haphazardly placed on shelves, blankets lie listlessly unfolded over the arms of the sofa, and dishes lay un-recycled in the sink. I roll my eyes as I sluggishly ignore all of it as I mount the stairs, drawn by the soft, dulcet call of tangled white sheets.

Even the bedroom has taken on a shameful mien of hysteria. Dirty clothes are strewn over the cool polished hardwood; shirts and pants peek naughtily out of the bureau. Jean Luc, I smile wryly, is going to have a field day with this mess when he's together enough to register any of it.

My concern, however, is not with the maelstrom of the bedroom, the state of the bathroom, the clothing that needs to go into the recycler, or the dishes that need to be cleared from the kitchen counters and sink. Right now, all I want is to bury myself beneath this pile of sheets and blankets and, just for a while, forget that any of this happened.

My hands move to my side, grabbing at the billowing tunic and pulling it over my head. "Owch! Shit!" This damn shirt always catches on my hair! A few masterful yanks and tugs, a loss of a few strands of hair, and the garment is discarded, joining its fallen comrades on the floor.

"Beverly," In all my fussing, I barely heard him make his way into the house and up the stairs.

"What?" I snap, my hands aimlessly fumbling with the closure of my jeans. I feel his eyes on my back, boring into me. "What, Jean Luc," I grit, letting the jeans fall to join its friend the tunic.

He's still silent and his reticence is incensing. "Jean Luc," I spin around, regarding him full on. "What?" I shout with my hands raised in frustration.

He drops his gaze, hiding the beginnings of a smile. "Jean Luc Picard, I swear if you're laughing at me you can goddamn sleep on the couch," No you know what? "You can sleep on the couch anyway!" A pillow hits his squarely in the stomach, riveting his attention back to me.

"Beverly," he chides, letting the pillow fall as he moves closer to me.

"Don't you _'Beverly,'_ me, Jean Luc. What the hell were you thinking back there?!" I'm outraged. "Not telling me?!" I push past him and head into the bathroom. "How could you keep any of that from me?" My hand smashes against the door as I intend to slam it, but his reflexes are too quick and his body insinuates itself in the doorframe.

"Beverly," he grabs my arm not before I shake it off. "Please," he breathes, "Let me explain."

"Explain?" I mirror. "You're goddamn right, you're going to explain and you'd better have a good explanation or…" Or what? I can feel my chest heaving, my face flushing, and butterflies of absolute rage flying about in my stomach.

"Beverly," he walks closer to me, seemingly taking advantage of my momentary consternation. "I'm sorry," He whispers. "But…"

Big hot tears build behind my eyes and before I can rebuke them, they coming spilling over my lashes. Sobs then start to wrack my body. "Beverly," his gentle voice whispers again. "Beverly," It's as smooth as silk, erotic and seductive. But no, I remind myself; you're angry.

"Why, Jean Luc?" I step away, letting my back fall against the thick glass of the large shower. "Why didn't you tell me? I was terrified!"

"I know," He looks down, avoiding my gaze. "Wesley – he made the plan with Kathryn when she brought Owen a few days ago…"

My eyes shoot up, boring into his. "Wesley and Kathryn?"

"Yes, when they went into the kitchen together," he rubs his eyes before continuing. "Kathryn and her husband, up until today, were still part of Starfleet. They found out that Jack was still alive so she and Wes concocted the plan – Owen was implicit."

"So," I turn away, pacing the cool bathroom tile. "You knew that Jack would be there? You knew that all of that would happen? Owen," I look up, realization dawning. "He didn't betray us at all? He was really helping us?"

"I think he felt guilty," he corrects himself: "I know he felt guilty about what happened last year with the Academy. He's been under a cloud for a while now."

"He took an awfully big chance," my admiration for Owen floods my heart. He risked his life for us. If this plan – whatever it is – had gone south, he'd have been killed as well.

But that still doesn't answer my question. I stop dead in front of him, resolute even just in my bra and underwear. I can feel the heat rolling off of his body. His eyes match mine and blaze with an anachronous bearing of arousal. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this, Jean Luc?" I whisper. "I thought we were going to die."

"I know," a large hand moves cautiously to sit on the small of my waist. "We thought… I knew Jack would know if he didn't smell fear off of you," He sighs, meeting my eyes again. "If you knew going in that Jack was going to die regardless-"

"You played me, Jean Luc." I stare, "You all played me."

His eyes are open; his motives lay bare and unclouded. "We just wanted this to be over, Beverly. I wanted the threats to end; I wanted to come back to our life. So-"

Intuitively, I know why Jean Luc did what he did. In fact, under other circumstances I would have lauded his tactics; I would have praised him with clever handling of the situation. But right now, I look away; right now I feel used, like a chess pawn. "I'm sorry," he croaks as the understanding of how much he hurts me bundles in his own throat. "Beverly, I'm so sorry."

I pull away, leaving the bathroom as I heed my previous desire to climb into those white, downy comforters. "Beverly," his hand catches my bony wrist as he forcefully tugs me to himself. "Beverly, please," my hair slaps him squarely in the face as he pulls me to him. "Beverly, I'm so sorry. Please," he begs in earnest. "Forgive me."

My body crashes flush against his under the weight of his pull. I feel every pane of his body – every bulging muscle depresses itself on my breast. Even his growing arousal indents my leg. I should be furious with him. My Howard temper is goading me to keep up the fight. But for some purpose, every reason that I have to be angry with him – though all those reasons are still valid – seem to fade away in the growing light of dawn that seeps through these big windows. Golden rays warm my bare skin and start to evaporate my anger.

Unconsciously I move closer to him. Of its own accord, my leg presses against him drawing a muffled groan as he buries his face in my hair. It would be easy to fall into bed, to let his body cover mine, to let him lead me over and over until I can't breathe. "Beverly," he breaks my reverie with my name.

I nod, encouraging him to continue his thought.

"I really am sorry," I feel a silent tear, not one of my own, amble down my shoulder and snake a path down my arm.

My arms tighten around his thinner frame. "I know." His penitence, his closeness, sends a burning desire through my body. This desire, though, is not one for sex, but for nearness.

Automatically, my hands move to his sides and mirror their earlier action as they peel off his shirt, letting it fall of its own accord on top of my own. Without eying him, without making any sort of contact, my hands move to his pants, deftly undo the closure, and allow them to drop as well. My eyes rise to his, "Come to bed, Jean Luc," I whisper softly. "I'm tired."

**Yay! Becca got her act together and posted another chapter. **

**Linds: Alright, girl. You don't have to pay attention in class anymore. I've got your back. **

**Martin: Here is your chapter, Martinator. Thanks as always for the nudge. A good nudge always gets Becca to do your bidding - I think you've got that by now. **

**Meg: Listen, I would not go rogue on you. I would not forget you like that! Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. Please forgive me (said in squeaky sorry voice). Love all the ideas for the new story. I'm running it over in my head every day, though I haven't committed anything to paper yet. But I will! **

**Mels: Ecoute-moi, chica, I am super glad that you liked the last chapter. I thought it was a fitting way to end the whole Jack saga. And I took everyone's request to have Jack find out that Wes changed his last name. I liked that touch. Alright so as my next story goes - on the record here - I have not started to write it. I feel like when classes start, though, my writing is going to be a lot more frequent. Usually my inspiration comes when I'm procrastinating. I don't know why - this is just how the mind of Becca functions. **

**Alex: So, so glad that you've been reading and keeping up! Thanks for writing to me :). Makes me happy. Tell me what ye think of this one. I'll post another soon hopefully :). **

**Sharkissel: Aww thanks Sharky (that's my new nickname for you... since I give them to people... just be glad it's not schmee or pooper). I hope you like this chapter too :). **

**Sashsters: I know. This story is like the gift that keeps on giving. At this point it's also like the never ending story... which has to be remedied like this week. People have been on me to get this chapter up but I was so glad to hear from you last night and you defos gave me the impetus to put this one up today - so thank you my lovely friend. **


	166. Chapter 166

Wakefulness is a nebulous concept as my eyes crack open. It's dark and the house is still. Is it night? Or, it is morning? Little by little consciousness is returned to me and immediately these questions burn. The warm hand on my waist pulls me back as I try to maneuver and reach the chronometer, whose last location was on the floor.

"Beverly," His sleeping form mumbles. "Come back to sleep."

"Jean Luc," I nudge his hand away from my waist. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," he whispers. "Come back," the warm hand is persistent and again tries to detract me from my goal.

"Jean Luc!" I lark, swatting his hand away. "Stop it!"

I hear a muffled laugh before his weight pounces on me. "I think," he expertly rolls me onto my back, momentarily knocking the wind from my lungs. "That Wesley is still asleep." His tone is playfully suggestive as his breath warms my neck before myriads of tiny kisses find themselves wetly planted first on my cheeks, down my neck, and onto my breast. And just like the chronometer, our earlier disagreement is all but forgotten. Damn this man – he makes it impossible for me to stay angry with him!

"This," he fumbles with the closure of my bra. "Most certainly has to go." He's not always smooth, and his efforts are yielding no results; the stubborn clasp refuses to budge.

"Need help?" I cock my eyebrow, a huge grin already planted on my face.

"Would you mind?" He supports his weight over me, wolfishly watching me as his body covers my own and showers me with his warmth.

Long fingers expertly manipulate the obstinate closure and the garment is tossed aside. A Cheshire grin exaggerates his smile lines, "Now," he attacks my chest with delicate, worshipful kisses. "Where were we?"

Every touch, every kiss, every sensation is heightened. His erection is throbbing, burning hot against my thigh through his boxers. In the midst of his gentle ministrations against my breast, my hands slide down and drag his boxers out of the way. A knee insinuates itself between my legs, opening me to him as his kisses move lower.

"I've missed you," I whisper, so grateful to be here with him – to be making love with him like I've dreamed of doing – like we promised one another. His hands cradle my sides as delicately as one would handle a newborn. With an agonizing languidness his head moves down towards his goal. One of his hands moves from my flank to shuck away the superfluous boxers and deposit them on the floor, adding to the frenzied sartorial turmoil.

I've shut my mind off – rational thought fled from me the moment his body covered mine. I'm governed wholly by sensation – the want to feel him join with me, the desire to feel my walls wetly clasp him. The sheets have been thrown off and in the scant light shining through bedroom windows I watch him through lidded eyes. He pauses, just above the last piece of cloth hindering our joining. "Jean Luc," His name is torn between wheezed pants in breathy supplication. "Please."

He's intent on his goal. My head falls back against the pillow as I feel my thighs pulled apart. Silk is drawn down my legs, exposing me to the coolness of the room. Soon, though, a warm stream of air replaces that chill just before I feel his mouth on me, giving, tasting, and loving. It's exquisitely torturous as I feel an orgasm build, inexorably dragging me towards release. "Jean Luc," I pant. "Wait," I try to detract him, to make him join with me, but he's content where he is. "Jean Luc!" I try to remember that Wesley's just down the hall, but nothing muffles the scream when I feel two fingers enter me. White light flashes behind closed eyelids as the reverberations tumble over and over. "Jean Luc," is all I can say over and over. He stays, leveling me from my release. But after what to me registers as an eternity those same lips travel a trail back up, kissing over my sensitized flesh and encouraging currents and clenches in the thin muscles wrapped beneath.

"I love you," I whisper as his mouth claims my own. His tongue plunders, as he tastes more, loves more, gives more. I can't handle being apart from him. "Jean Luc," I break the kiss. "Please," I beg again.

Again, he doesn't deny me; in one swift movement he pushes through the last barrier, stretching the tissue to its limit, filling me to the hilt. But, I whine, he doesn't move. "Jean Lu-"

My bewilderment is cut off with another kiss. "You're magnificent, Beverly," I feel him admire breathily against my chest.

"I love you," My hands trail down his back, eliciting undulations in the broad muscles sheathed beneath as they end on his backside, hauling him deeper. "Move!" I entreat against him. In response, one hand moves down my inner thigh, bending my knee as he penetrates deeper.

My head falls back automatically as a groan slips from my lips. It's not possible, I think in the back of my mind, to feel this much pleasure. I see it dangling in front of me again as he moves, pounding forwards and backwards, rubbing against that spot that gives me chills. With one hand grasping my knee, the other hand moves between us, touching and manipulating me. I feel it in my stomach as the muscles there tingle and tighten. "Jean Luc!" His name is the only thing I can manage – the only words that make any sense to my muddled, pleasure-overwrought mind.

"I love you," I hear him whisper as he claims my lips. My mouth opens to him; I'll refuse him nothing – no part of my body, and no part of my soul.

"Jean Luc!" My climax shatters over me and the strong, overwhelming contractions in those muscles drag him over the precipice. I feel him pulsing, giving more of himself as his body collapses onto mine.

As the contractions go on and on, my legs cradle him to me, holding him inside of me as I'm unwilling to let him go. I feel moisture on my cheek, and I'm unaware if they're his tears or mine.

"I was so afraid," he murmurs into my hair. "No," he raises his head to catch my eyes. "I was terrified that I'd never make love to you again – that I'd never hold you again." Big saline drops trail his chin and pool at my neck.

"Oh, Jean Luc," My own tears mingle with his. "I love you."

He tries to move away, but I'm insistent; I hold his body to mine. "I'm going to crush you," he susurrates tiredly.

"No," I shake my head against his chest. "Stay." The feeling of fullness even in the midst of his softening is alluring, addictive. For now, his weight and the feeling of heaviness overtop me is comforting. He's still here; we're still here, together. After all of our trials, all the battles, all the time wasted – the fates have made it known that Jean Luc and I are meant to be together – that our lives are unalterably, inerasably written beside one another in the Book of Life. Our souls are twined – one can't stand, nor can one live without the other.

"I hope," I laugh before sleep claims me. "That Wesley was asleep for that."

"Well," I feel him grin before dreamlessness claims his own consciousness. "Even if he was, we likely woke him up…"

"Jean Luc," my one last thought before somnolence. "Tomorrow we've got to get the kids and clean the house and –"

"Shhh" one last kiss silences me before dormancy dominates. "Let tomorrow take care of itself."

**Martin: I ALWAY come through... okay not always. But I try :) **

**Meg: This chapter is for you Megling! I hope you like it!**

**Linds: Here is something to brighten your art class... which you've likely left by now. But here's a little something anyway. **

**Thanks everyone! Can't wait to hear from ye! Hope you're all having a great day :). **


	167. Epilogue

"Wesley?" Owch! Dammit! I should have put my earrings on after my shirt. What time is it? "Wesley?" I call again, looking back and projecting my voice down the hall.

"Mom," As a turn back I hear his voice and his padded feet come closer down the hall to our room. "What?" He exasperates standing in the doorway shrugging on his sweater. "It's not like I can't hear you," he smirks and rolls his eyes. "I hear everything..."

"Hey, Smart Alec," I smile into the mirror, seeing his blushed complexion. "Do you and Dad have the kids today, or do I?"

"No," he ambles over to the made bed as he makes himself comfortable on the newly made surface. "Dad and I are taking Saoirse and Aaron to school with us."

"Are you sure?" I caution.

"Sure about what?" The bathroom door clicks open and a flood of moist warm air tingled with the rich smell of Jean Luc's soap and aftershave waft out, steeping me in his scent. When I don't immediately answer, a wet kiss plants itself on my cheek, "Sure about what?" He repeats.

"Taking Saoirse and Aaron to school with us," Wesley retorts as a strong arm winds itself around my waist. "Listen," he gets up heading towards the door. I see his amused smile in the mirror. "Can't you two wait until I've at least left the room?"

Laughing, Jean Luc looks back at his son. "Well?" He motions towards the door expectantly. "What are you waiting for?"

Wesley just throws up his hands in mock indignation. "Okay, Okay," he snorts. "I can take a hint."

"So," Warm breath warms my neck. "First day back at work." His smile hasn't faded.

"Mmm," I lean into his embrace as warm breath morphs into warm, gentle kisses. "I'm excited. It's been too long and things are finally back to normal!" It really has been too long: a full two months. I've missed my patients, my routine. More than that, I've missed the normalcy that being able to go back to work brings. It means that things in our life have resumed their stability.

Moreover, it's the start of a new semester. Jean Luc's classes have resumed and happily he's fitted himself back into his old routine. Wesley's finishing his degree this year and the school has already granted him a spot for a PhD, if he'll take it. I smile – he will. Jean Luc and I are loath to see him leave us-leave home. He told us that he wants to stay with us for as long as he can – to help with Saoirse and Aaron, and just to be physically together for a while longer.

The Starfleet trial ended last week. All three of us were called to testify. Though we had all been aware of Starfleet's corruption, none of us had any true idea regarding the extent of the depravity. Programs like Jack's Advancement were rife, and most were funnelled through the Daystrom Institute where technically they weren't subject to Starfleet regulation. Advancement, however, was the most barbaric.

It came out that Jack was able to garner huge funds to support his maniacal dream of seeing humanity reach its next stage of evolution. Dozens of doctors were involved, as well as a handful of drug companies. Participants in his program would start out as volunteers. They were carefully chosen from the population – mostly young men and women with particular talents who were lured by Jack to participate in what he hailed was the opportunity of a lifetime. Living contributors came forward at the time of the trial and detailed how methodical Jack was in his recruitment – how enticing his offers.

Participants in Advancement were incrementally drugged with experimental medications meant to bring forward their more 'super human' abilities. However, the drugs were unregulated and soon deleterious side effects began to manifest. To cover his tracks, Jack preemptively murdered many of them.

Starfleet itself is going through a restructuring. Admirals like Nechayev, Hayes, Nakamura, Jones – they've all had their ranks stripped from them for their involvement in the corruption. However, it's not only Starfleet that is being systematically reorganized, the government is as well. It turns out Jack's little black book was quite accurate; those contained within were indicted and are now being prosecuted.

"Where are you?" He whispers, holding me to him as I try to make my way.

I turn to him, pressing my body intimately against his, feeling his waves of heat, and smelling that deliciously intoxicating scent that's familiar only to him. "I was thinking…"

He smiles, kissing the bridge of my nose. "About?"

"These past couple of months. The trial," I nibble along his strong jawline. "Everything."

Hands slide down my arms, coming to rest on my side. "I love you," a warm Shakespearean baritone whispers into long burnished hair.

"I love you," his neck is warm where I kiss it, but goosebumps raise and seemingly mark the outline of my lips.

"Dad!" We look at each other and laugh at the mutual thought: he sounds like a petulant teenager. "We're going to be late!" Wesley calls exasperatedly from downstairs.

"Don't want to keep the boss waiting," I smile, tearing myself away from his embrace before grabbing my sweater off the bed. "Oh, Jean Luc," I turn back, bumping into him.

"Hmm?" He ushers me forward, calling off the bedroom light.

"When is Fall break again?" I just remembered, "I have to tell Hope when we're going to France to see Marie and Robert."

"We're going back to France?" Wesley looks up while arranging the closures on Saoirse's jacket. She looks down, whimpering as she fusses with the small zipper. "Wes!" She demands, riveting his attention to her as she points at the hair caught in the teeth of the zipper.

"Oh!" Wesley's face is penitent. "Kitten," he fiddles with the device, freeing the offending strand. "I'm sorry!"

"I'll see you later, Kitten," I bend down, kissing her tiny forehead. Jean Luc holds the baby up to me. "Bye, baby boy," I lavish his chubby cheek with the same wet kisses. "I love you."

The front door opens, heralding in a gust of cool, autumn air. "What time are you going to be home tonight, Mom?" Wesley turns back at the bottom of the steps, Saoirse propped on his shoulders.

"I don't know. Six?" I fumble with the antique house keys. Why is it, again, that we don't voice-lock, or key-code the door like all the neighbours?

"We've got to go," Another kiss finds it way onto my cheek before he too hurries down the steps. "In the car, Wes. You're going to be late for lecture."

I hear one last "Bye Mom," before the car turns, heading for the driveway. I'm going to be late, I know. But, I can't help sneaking a last look at them. Wesley and Jean Luc in the front, talking, laughing about their day, their students. Kitten and Aaron sit in the back car seats, smiles plastered to their faces as they watch the passing trees.

All this love, I think. It's what I wanted all along. Life, I smile to myself as I too amble down the big, rough-hewn stone steps, making my way to the car, is a funny entity. I never thought it would take me over 20 years to admit loving Jean Luc. More than that, I never imagined this life for myself. But now, when I look back, I can't see it being any other way. I can't see a life without him – I can't see a life without loving him.

Yes, I laugh, starting the ignition as thoughts of my own day start to swirl. Life is a distinctly choleric, at times inscrutable, entity. At times, it presents itself as a taunting beast, forcing you – without mercy – to change your perspective. I shudder when I think that it took nearly dying to admit to Jean Luc how much I loved him. And that beast keeps on presenting itself: as anaphasic life forms, or as terrible trials that test your resolve. But life is not so harsh as I'm making her out to be; for she can also be incredibly kind, which I'm reminded of every time that I look at my children, or every time that I'm close to my husband. What is more, she is dynamic, fluid, vibrant, and ever changing. And do you want to know something? I'm terrifyingly ecstatic to see where she'll take us.

The End (for now).

**Alright! That's a wrap! I just want to thank you guys for hanging in there with me all summer. You've all been my friends and have made my last summer break as a medical student the best one that I've ever had. Big thank you to Linds without whose encouragement this would have never taken off. Also wanted to thank Martin, Meg, Tiffany, Reagan, Mels, and Sasha and Jordan for keeping me on my toes this whole time. I love all of you and you can always comment here for the next story which I am going to write - per all of your request from Jean Luc's perspective on the Enterprise (that'll be quite the undertaking). That will be my next project so hopefully I'll get that going soon. Really, really, really want all your input on that so I hope you'll follow me over to that one. One last thank you again to everyone who commented and kept me on track and gave me so much encouragement. I think of you guys as my friends, really. **

**Thank you!**

**Oh and if you comment here, I'll try to get back to you in the next story! **

**Much love,**

**Becca**


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